"What's your favorite style of painting?" he asked, sipping his tea. (NOTE for new readers: Here at Caveat Emptor, "sipping tea" is a sure sign that a character is an arrogant asshole. Why? I don't know. I actually like tea. In my writing, however, tea sipping is almost universally a sign of asshatery.)
"Finger," I replied, chugging my Red Bull and then belching loudly. (NOTE: I don't actually drink Red Bull. I also do not belch often. It's been know to happen, but it's not like a signature thing of mine or anything.)
Have you ever tried to juggle paint? Not in tubes or cans or anything, just big splashes of paint? It isn't easy, let me tell you. Nevertheless, someone has to juggle the paint. We cannot leave the paint unjuggled.
How will we abide the tea sippers of the world? We will dance our feelings. We will journal our fears. We will open up and let our emotions juggle. We are the dried leaves of humanity, crushed and brewed for the enjoyment of the gods, steeped in doom, damned to be sipped forever.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
