His Arm Was Extended, Pointing

“Sword through desk! There, there's your proof.”

“That doesn't prove... What? A sword comes out of your desk? Why?”

“It's a defensive thing. It defends me.”

“And the verbal command is 'sword through desk'?”

“No, I just like saying that. There's a button on the floor to activate it.”

“Okay. But my point remains—there may not be a war going on after all.”

“Bullshit! It's all everyone talks about anymore. Sword through desk!”

“Sure, talk. But is anyone actually fighting?”

“I saw some vikings fight.”

“Were they though? It could have been a party and they got a little rowdy.”

“The cowboys too. You hear about them fighting all the time.”

“Nobody has even seen any cowboys. I'm not even sure they exist.”

“But the pirates keep saying...”

“Screw the pirates! They always lie. No, there is no evidence that there's a war. We're all being manipulated.”

“By who?”

“Good question. It doesn't matter. I am proposing an ad campaign that dispels the myth of the war.”

“Why would I approve that?”

“It would only benefit the company. People will get back to their normal lives. They'll buy more. Sales will go up. Stocks will go up.”

“Will they?”

“Probably. I think that's how capitalism works. So what do you think?”

“I think... you're a cowboy in disguise! Sword through desk! Ow!”

Don't Say Yes

“Look at my face. Look at my stupid face!”

“Hey, buddy...”

“Don't look at me! My stupid fucking face. It makes no goddammed sense! Why couldn't it be in the front! It's a fucking circle! The middle part could be my nose! What the fuck! What are they afraid of, a fucking copyright infringement? Bunch of assholes.”

“Is there...”

“Shut up! Oh, shit, sorry. I've been drinking. You might ask how, and why and, uh, how a train drinks, but don't ask, because it's stupid. The question isn't stupid, the answer is. My whole existence is stupid. A fucking bullshit joke. Ding ding! Here comes the joke.”

“Could you...”

“I can't even join the war, did you know that? No inanimate objects allowed. Bunch of fascists. I'd be great in the war. Run any suicide mission you want. Hey, where are you going? I thought we were becoming friends. Don't go! Do you want a ride?”

Don't Google That

“Hey, Bob, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What is the craziest thing you've ever had sex with?”

“Thing? Thing I had sex with?”

“An inanimate object you've inserted yourself into, or inserted into yourself, or otherwise rubbed against, to completion.”

“Are you trying to get me to go to an orgy again?”

“No. Why, do you want to go?”

“No.”

“Okay. Well, think about it.”

“Think about going to an orgy, or think about things I've had sex with?”

“Think about sex. Think about sexy things. Think about my wife. She thinks about you.”

“I got to go to work.”

“Okay. Want to know why I'm hosing off my toaster?”

“No.”

“Rancid poptart.”

Not Always Low Energy

“This is all terribly exciting. I can't tell you how pleased I am, after all these delays, to start this meeting.”

“Is he being sarcastic?”

“What's that?”

“Nothing, sir!”

“He's sincere. Just low energy.”

“What?”

“Sorry, sir, we were just comparing notes.”

“I know we're out of practice, but let's focus our attention, please. Now, what is the first item on the agenda?”

“The war, I believe, sir.”

“The war. Indeed. Is there a war going on?”

“Everybody seems to be talking about it, so I would say yes.”

“Who are we fighting?”

“I'm not sure there is any fighting? It just seems to be groups forming alliances against common enemies.”

“Sir, it has come to my attention that we haven't chosen a side. Various groups have been waiting for us to make a decision. Like the window washers.”

“Who?”

“Look over there.”

“Good gravy, have they been there this whole time? How disconcerting. Very well, let's choose a side. Do we have any offers?”

“The lawyers have suggested an alliance.”

“And we're not lawyers?”

“I'm not a lawyer. Are you a lawyer?”

“I didn't think so, but I wanted confirmation. So we're... I want to say, business...meeters...?”

“Executives.”

“Business executives, that's right. We are business executives. So, yes, I think we should ally ourselves with the lawyers. Any objections?”

“It's what the window washers were expecting.”

“Who?”

“The people outside there.”

“Oh, yes. I see they're going away now. Is that good or bad?”

“I'm not sure. They were talking about cowboys earlier.”

“Oh my god, I love cowboys!”

We All Serve The Rich Masters

“So, everybody got that? Dr. Egghead...”

“Eckhardt.”

“Right, sorry. Dr. Egghard says we shouldn't be worried about any homoeroticism at all.”

“Indeed. Well, I see by the clock I should be getting back to the sidelines. Can one of you push me?”

“Yah.”

“Wheeeee! Faster, go faster. No, don't take me to the coach, he's boring. Let's go over there. Yeah, that's it. Hello, girls! I assume by your tight tiny outfits that everybody's eating disorders are still in order?”

“Get bent, Doctor.”

“Hee hee! Oh, over there! Yeah, right behind him. Line up my foot with his fuzzy ass. A little faster... Pow!”

“Goddammit!”

“The crowd loves it, you third-rate jester! Ooh, cops. Swing me past them... hey, pigs, having fun serving your rich masters?”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“Man, I love this job! Okay, I guess you can park me at my desk. Got to get back to work. Lots of analyzing to be done. There's a war on, after all. I wonder, are we winning?”

“Uh, the war? Or the game?”

“Either! Both! I don't care, I still get paid. Well, don't just stand there, get back on the field! Tackle somebody! And remember, it's perfectly acceptable to get a boner!”

Skydivers Are Idiots

“Don't look at them!”

“I'm not!”

“But who are they?!”

“It doesn't matter! We have a mission! Focus on the mission!”

“Are they a counterattack?!”

“I think they're naked!”

“Dammit, focus!”

“Isn't that a famous piece of art or something?! I'm going to google it when we get back!”

“This is a suicide mission, there is no going back!”

“What?! Nobody said anything about suicide!”

“I'm kidding! But we face death every moment of our lives!”

“They're getting closer!”

“I'm going to take off my clothes!”

“Stick with the plan! Do not jeopardize this mission!”

“I don't know why you guys are shouting, the comms are working fine.”

“What?!”

He's Not Much Of A Catch Himself! Misogynist!

“Is the war... ow, my foot!”

“What's wrong?”

“My feet hurt so much. Look at them—do you think they look normal?”

“You got some weird bumps there. No, they look pretty messed up.”

“I know. And I don't know why. Everything else seems fine.”

“I guess it's just one of those things.”

“I guess. Anyway, is the war still affecting your sex drive?”

“It sure is. Do you see this worm? Now look at my bait. I'm useless. Nothing's been the same since I lost that last big one. The fishermen are threatening to cast me out. I don't know what to do. I should just give up.”

“You just need time. You...”

“Plus your feet are gross.”