the jasper journal

Snoooooooooooooooore.
[shove]
What?
You’re snoring.
Well now that I’m awake, I’m going to lick my crotch.
Gross, no you’re not. I’ll throw you, I mean it.
Fine. Then I want to sleep on your chest.
No, that’s too much togetherness. Feet only.
I don’t like your boney feet.
Tough shit pal, you’re not sleeping on anything in the northern hemisphere of this bed.
[shuffle shuffle]
HEY.
What? It’s just the shins for Christ sake.
Why do you have to sleep ON me? [shove] Get on the pillow I bought you, or the other one I bought you or the tacky rug I bought you, or the brown couch I bought you.
[shuffle shuffle .. . . . chewchewgnawchew]
What the hell is that?
This big gross bone you got me . . . . you’re such a loser. You knew I was going to CHEW it, duh.
Get bent.
Whatever, I'm the only game in town tonight loserbabe.
Your haircut looks like Wittgenstein's.
Whose idea was that?
And even the mutt with emphysema downstairs can take you.
Okay okay, don't get all pissy, let's make up. I'll let you pet my ass.