This Could Be A Really Nice Little Date It's Sunday night and we both have to work tomorrow, but I don't want this weekend to end. So let's pretend like we don't have to do anything else ever again. If we pretend really hard, like Mr. Rogers does when he goes to freaky-ass puppetland place, who knows?
‘Cuz anything can happen really. And it often does.
It's a beautiful night. The air is crisp and it's clear and all that bullshit. So we got that goin' for us, which is nice.
Let's see... I've got a bottle of wine. Some leftover rum and a couple o' beers, if the wine ain't enough.
I got snacks. Some crackers and hummus. Some cheese. Nothng fancy. Maybe some sausage. I forgot the shrimp.
This could be a really nice little date, if only there were someone here with me.
There's a great view out from the living room window. We'll watch the cars double park to get 40's of Bud while the gangstas fight the war out on the streets.
We will go outside for some fresh air. The crazy guy from down the street will tell us that he's got mushrooms. Then he'll turn on you and tell you you're not pretty.
He is wrong.
You are lovely. Absolutely lovely. Don't let anyone tell you differently.
He is on mushrooms, and I am only slightly buzzed. Who you gonna believe?
So we'll go back inside. And my crazy downstairs neighbor – who complains to me, convinced I am building something in the middle of the night – will blast her Christina Aguilera til my floor shakes. I will combat her by blasting Andrew Bird til we can't hear her shitz no more.
I still got a couple of Lowenbraus in the fridge. Enough for you and me to put this all to rest.