Yup. We're still here. [Bitches.]

Z: And our first question is: where's our money, man? You've ALL been ducking us for, oh, at least 4 months now, and We. Are. Tired. Of. This shit.

Seriously tired. Isn't that right, Christian?

C: So fucking tired.

Z: Seriously watch your language bro. The F-word? On our first blog entry together in months? Kinda crude man.

C: I'm sorry. It's just...you know...::starts sniffling::...it's been hard lately...that's what she said...::sniffle::

Z: Are you quietly weeping, cursing, and mumbling "that's what she said" simultaneously?

C: That's not exactly a conversation I feel prepared to have right now, Zachary. Please, let's move on. ::sniffle::

Z: Wow. You're right, brother. That's my bad on that one. Sometimes I get carried away with these "live" feeling blogs, you know dude? Wow wow. It's like, once you actually take a second and READ the words you're saying to another human being...Jeez. I really value you. I really do. Sometimes it becomes all about the readership and it's like, this friendship, this wonderful leaping of electrons between two human souls, the real shit,you know, the shit we do this for, the shit we breathe, that shit gets left behind man, and its just me talking to some puppet-Christian, when all I really want is the real man, the flesh-and-blood man I've come to love and know every inch of. Every inch.

C: Uh-huh. Oooh, where'd you get that whiskey? Is that...is that Jameson Irish? Oh, and that really tugged at my heart strings, seriously it did. Whiskey and Scrubs? That Zach Braff...he's a silly bitch.

Z: A)I drink more Scrubs than you watch in a day. B) Wow do I have a STORY about silly bitches! Ok. So this past Wednesday night me and a few guys-

C: --Wasn't I hanging out with you guys on Wednesday?

Z: are getting pretty toasted down at Curly's--

C: Yeah, no, I was definitely with you guys at Curlys.

Z: and this DUDE is just completelyyyyyyyyyyy WASTED! gone gone gone dude. so gone. and we're all raggin' on his ass 'cause he can't find his shoes 'cause we unlaced 'em and hid 'em in the car and

C: Dude. I was the DD. And you guys only took one shoe. I still haven't gotten it back.

Z: and get this get this, we start paddling him with one of the shoes

C: I still can't sit.

Z: and by the end of it, we're pouring whiskey down his shirt front, two guys holding him down, while "Pour Some Sugar on Me" is playing. Get it, we're basically interpreting the song's lyrics.

C: A cop gave me a DUI because I reeked of booze. My record is permanently tainted.

Z: Yeah. Yeah. Wish you were there bro.

C: I was. I'm the main character in this story. I drove all of you home. I called your parents. You humiliated me and hung me out to dry. And all you guys did was buy me a stupid shirt that said, "My friends stole my shoes, spanked me with one of them, then poured whiskey on me whilst an ironic song played-- ON SPRING BREAK!" My left foot is so cold.

Z: Uhuh. Wish you could have been there dude.

C: *sigh* Me too.

Z: Here's your shoe.

C: Terrific. Now I can finally stop wearing this Piggly-Wiggly bag to work every day. Not nearly as slip-resistant as you'd hope.

Z: Do you ever say anything interesting?

C: Ouch.

Z: I mean, seriously. In the time that you've been at my house, all you did was talk about how you took advantage of some guy at a bar. That's sick, bro.

C: I'm having a little bit of a Salvador Dali moment right now...

Z: I like his early shit.

C: Yeah, it's the best. It was really all downhill from the melty clock peice.

Z: Word. Whiskey?

C: No thanks. It makes me surly.

Z: Good. 'Cause I don't like it when you drink, dude. This was a test. I mean, remember last time you drank all the whiskey in the house? Hodge and I had to hide in the closet until you stopped asking for more ice cream...I've never been so terrified. You just kept making this scooping motion at my head. You really wanted it. Kudos.

C: Thanks.

[Long pause.]

Z: You will never love a woman who will see you and love you fully in return.

C: Yeah? Well...you'll never...um...climb...Mount...the...Eiffel Tower...bitch.

Z: Right. Well. You know what this means, then.

C: Of course.

Z: We always said, "If one of us ever threatens the others dream to climb/mount the Eiffel tower, we would duel each other to the death.

C: Aren't all duels to the death?

Z: Not in olden times. Their pistols often caused severe entry wounds, but small exit wounds, resulting in relatively slow deaths but quick recoveries if proper exterior medical care was provided, tertiary concerns really-- quite the opposite of today's firearms!

C: Fascinating!

Z: Yes--agreed. I'll meet you at midnight. Ak-47's?

C: No OddJob.

Z: Of course.

C: And I'll bring the S'mores stuff.

Z: Of course.

C: Your mom got Hot Pockets in the freezer?

Z: Think so.

C: Pepperoni Pizza?

Z: Those are the best.

C: I know!

Z: Man, now I really want one...How long do those take?

C: I think only a couple minutes if cooked on high.

Z: Thank God. I don't think I could wait much more than two minutes.

C: Yeah.

Z: Yeah...

C: Yep.

Z: Mhmm...

[Long pause.]

C: But seriously, Hot Pockets are just delicious.

Z: Agreed.