After being kicked out of our third bar that night, Michael and I drove home in frustrated silence.  This had been happening to us a lot lately.

“God!  All of the girls at that place were total bitches,” Michael whined.

“Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t always wear the mask,” I said.

“Oh yeah that was it,” said Michael sarcastically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Nothing.  I just think you should’ve talked about your job more.  That was really working well.”

In a nasally voice, Michael began to imitate me.  “Hey, look at me!  I fix computers all day!  I hate it when they run out of diet coke in the kitchen because then I have to go downstairs and buy a diet coke!  Oh no!”

“Shut up, Michael!” I screamed.  “I don’t sound like that!”

I wanted to hit him at that moment, but then I remembered Michael was a violent, bloodthirsty psychopath and he might burn my face off with a road flare.

“I want to go to Taco Bell,” said Michael.