No Cheese, Please

Sunday night post-game. In response to self-expression. Zach: Some of the shit you write is just retarded.

Me: What? Like what? (laughing, though silently...wounded, angry, defensive, self-righteous, defiant, bitter, scrunch-nosed, cross-armed, furl-browed and in denial)

Zach: Like how the west wind makes you think more profoundly or whatever you wrote.

Me: But I really do think better when it's cold out. I mean for real. I do. Don't you?

Zach: Yeah, but you sound so lame when you say that the breeze makes you grasp the meaning of life.

Me: But I really do understand things better when it's not hot as balls outside.

Zach: Fine, I understand better now, but you sound so cheesy.

Me: I am cheesy. I get it from my mom. My portabello mushroom burger tastes bad.

Zach: That's cuz you ordered it without cheese.