ralph: hey niteowl, you failed to RD my rant against fake computers
ralph: you went straight to katya crapping
ralph: again
ralph: get off the stick or we'll give your job to the mexican
niteowl: what can i say man, the game is the game, try harder, stop phoning it in, drop the references to day time dramas from 1979, lose the stache, retrofit a real bumper on that statusUV, burn your moleskine, make chintzy 60's era pleather couches from your law texts, host a slam poetry session where the mic doesn't work, take up the butterfly stroke, stop opening your balisong with two hands, stop worrying so much about your lower back, read less alcoholic white men from days when orange and brown were 'complementary colours', chew an altoid, impersonate Lipton, have more than one favourite swear word, have one favorite swear phrase, creep out a car dealer, go for broke
ralph: stop worrying so much about your lower back
ralph: that one hit home
ralph: the rest have me pretty comfortable that my net persona is untraceable
niteowl: yer saying yer net persona is not yer real persona? what are you? 21?
ralph: and the suv is 12 years old
niteowl: 12 years old eh? 5 more years and you could a called it 'vintage'
niteowl: i bet you do it anyhow, Cobain
ralph: the vintage threshhold is 17?
niteowl: i dunno, you tell me, hipster
niteowl: HUGS
niteowl: OH I CAN"T DO THE TOUGH BROOKLYN THING FOR TOO LONG
ralph: heh
niteowl: i'm writing yer name out in Lite Brite as we speak
ralph: hug beta he's closer
niteowl: naw, he tries to practice his 'scissors' technique
niteowl: and my pucker reflex is mad strong
ralph: you do know that neither you nor beta have tentacles, and you're both dudes
niteowl: wait. what?
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