Pedro: That would be my fault.
Joe: What did you just say?
Pedro: Uh...that would be my fault?
Joe: Oh I could have sworn you said, "I can't do that, friend."

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Joe: Cardboard does not go in the garbage.
Pedro: *blank stare*
Joe: You put the top of the mushroom box in the garbage earlier.  You broke down the mushroom box and put the top in the garbage.
Pedro: *continued blank stare*
Joe: Did you break down a box of mushrooms earlier?
Pedro: No.
Joe: Okay I'll let you off this time.

Joe is a wild one.  He can't be tamed.  You're not going to tame him, so don't even try.  He's just too goddam wild.  Like a pony, but one of the real mean ones that will kick you just for beating it at cribbage or backgammon.  "But Pedro."  Yes?  "Ponies don't play cribbage OR backgammon!!  You are silly man."  Well, you've got me there, friend.  Then I guess he's more like one of the real mean ones that will kick you just for beating it at Guess Who.  "That's more like it."  Well he's so dumb, he always takes blonde mustache.  Before every game I say, 'Pony, please tell me you didn't just pick blonde mustache.' And he gets all glass eyed like he knows I'm gonna beat him, but he just loves blonde mustache so much that he can't help it.  Don't hate mean pony, he's just got a bad case of the unrequited love.  And the only remedy is the home movies he stole from a latino family in a Houston suburb.  But the projector doesn't really work, like you have to crank it with your hand and it always slips off and it squeaks (even though I gave him the fucking oil, he's so dumb). 

Do hate Joe though.  "But you said Joe was just like mean pony."  Oh yeah well I also told you to shut the hell up.  "No you didn't."

Ryan: Get to work.
Pedro: Sorry.
Ryan: I love the respect I get around here.
Pedro: You don't want to know how close I was to saying, "Shove it."
Ryan: How close? How close in inches?
Pedro: I prefer to measure my distrust of management in cubic decimeters.
Ryan: Whatever's most accurate.

That Ryan's a good kid.  I kicked his ass at hopscotch once. 
Once?  More like every day.

Sometimes I start to feel bad for him, but then I remember that if I don't stomp his face into the curb with my superior hopping and scotching abilities I'll be doing him no favors.  It's a tough world out there (a tough *hopscotch* world that is).  You've got to learn to fend for yourself.  And eventually wake up, rub the candy coating from your eyes, replace it with Visine (or a knock off, you cheap whore), and blow your brains out because the pressure of the Hopscotch Circuit is too much to bare.  You're fat and no one loves you, or gives a good god damn about how many scotches you've hopped.  And it's probably nowhere near as many as you claim.  I saw you're score card, dip shit.  Get a life. 

Here, you can have half of mine but I need it back.

If I had anything valuable to write, I wouldn't be writing it.