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A. gots Van Halen tickets
A.: Going to the show?
T.: The show?
A.: Yeah. Tonight's the big show. I got two tickets if you want to come with.
T.: What show?
A.: The Van Halen show.
T.: Oh. ... No.
A.: What? Why not?
T.: I never liked Van Halen much.
A.:
T.: What?
A.: I can't believe you just said that.
T.: Why not?
A.: Van Halen is God.
T.: I thought God was God.
A.: Well, Van Halen booted God out of the throne or something, then.
T.: So Van Halen's like a fascist dictator who took over heaven.
A.: (shrugs) Okay, yeah.
T.: Did he just barge right in, or was there, like, a strategic slow-build invasion first?
A.: Oh, an invasion first, definitely. The Van Halen invasion!
T.: What kind of invasion?
A.: Oh, bombs and everything. Big bombs. And explosions even bigger than the flashpots they set off on stage every night. Or used to.
T.: Deaths?
A.: Oh, yes. All the angels were getting, like, blown into small bloody chunks all over the place.
T.: They didn't, like, assassinate God or anything, though.
A.: Oh, yeah. They did. And blew up all of the mansions.
T.: Huh.
A.: Yeah.
T.: Sounds just like 9-11.
A.: It was, it was.
T.: So basically, Van Halen's the new bin Laden.
A.: (nods) ... Hey, wait. No. Van Halen's just wicked with a guitar, that's all. I thought you'd want to go. Why you twist everything I say I'll never know.
T.: Well, that's just the thing. No twisting involved here. You said it yourself.
A.: Yeah, right. Just like that time you made me say I wished I was a boy so I could...you know.
T.: Satisfy yourself?
A.: Worse, you intimated that I would -- look, screw you. You know what you tried to make me say.
T.: You said it.
A.: I don't want to go to Van Halen with you anyway.
T.: Good. I'll take someone else.
A.: Fine.
T.: Fine.
A.: Fine.
T.: I'll tell you all about it tomorrow.
A.: Like I'll care.
T.: Okey-doke. Bye now.
A.: Shove off. Punk.
A.: Hey, wait a second.
(For L. R., my most impatient reader)
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