Left to right…
Mortified Maureen: “I cannot believe that you made me pee in the men’s bathroom. It was insulting and degrading and I’m never coming back here. And stop walking so fast! Just because you have legs longer than the Empire State Building doesn’t mean the rest of us should have to suffer.”
Jaunty John: “Oh, quit your gripin’. You had to pee, I found you a place to pee. I can’t help it if the ladies’ room was out of order. How was I supposed to know that Joan Crawford had just tried to flush the earnings report for Pepsi?”
Voided Vicar: “What’s that you’re saying about moaning crawfish?”
Dishing Driver: “You’d think she’d be more upset about that ugly hat she’s wearing instead of where she had to squat.”
Windshield Wiper: “And just how in the hell do they expect my little ass to clean this whole piece of glass?”
Carriage return, left to right, redux.
Maureen: “I get the sense that you don’t respect me. And why does this jacket smell like gin and regret?”
John: “Oh, quit your snipin’. You were cold and wanted a jacket, I found you a jacket. I can’t help it if the jacket belonged to Tallulah Bankhead. And as for respect, you don’t have a penis, so why are you expecting that from me?””
Vicar: “Did someone say Venus? Is it in the sky right now? Is it night? I never know anymore.”
Driver: “I have a penis. And the image of the Empire State Building inspires me in a way that I don’t fully understand.”
Wiper: “Am I the only one who understands how completely wrong everything is in this scene?”
Carriage return, rinse and repeat.
Maureen: “I’m tired of not being validated, John. Just because you make my toes curl doesn’t mean I’m always going to click like on your blog. So to speak.”
John: “Well, I’m tired of you expecting validation. I’m an overrated movie star and I can do whatever I want until social media is invented. And there are plenty of other toes I can curl.”
Vicar: “Why are we talking about valleys now? What happened to Venus? Are we still looking for her?”
Driver: “I just realized that I don’t want a valley or a Venus. Hmm. No wonder my mother never talks to me about wanting grandchildren. Mommas always know.”
Wiper: “I’m swiping left on all of this mess.”
Writer: “That’s the most honest line of dialogue I’ve scribbled today. Thank you, Wiper Buddy.”
Wiper: “My pleasure. Say, do you have any WD-40 handy? My gears are a little constipated. They smell like rust and regret. And Tallulah.”
Previously published on “Crusty Pie”, modified considerably for this post.
Categories: Past Imperfect