Me: The Night Writer, John Stewart; 50 years old and smart enough to have married my trophy wife first.
When the Rooster's Away...
The Nightwriter's at a company function and the 'Hens' have hit the town to paint it light red.
Right now we're at Cafe Latte having dinner. Salads, sandwiches, and of course, ridiculously caloric desserts.
TL: Can I have a bite of your foccacia?
MD: If I can have a bite of your cake.
TL: I am not a 'Hen'.
MD: We're still chicks. I'm having technical difficulties. (trying to cut her tomato)
Lots of munching.
TL: You're not putting down all of our dialogue.
RM: That's because it's lame. I'm only writing the cute stuff.
MD: We can make eyes at cute boys, like that one right there. (points to a four year old)
I have a lemon shrimp pasta salad, balsamic vegetable salad and chicken ceaser pasta salad and the chicken ceaser is the best.
RM: MMMMM, that is good. What else can I have?
MD: You can have my balsamic tomatoes.
TL: (sarcastically) MMMMM, I wish I had some balsamic tomatoes.
RM: Eat your potato chips. I paid good money for those.
TL: No, I want to eat my cake.
RM: I want to eat your cake, too.
TL: Apparently my cake is in hostile territory, with predators on all sides.
TL: I was looking at Faith's baby pictures today. You were so cuuuute.
MD: I'm still cute. Watchoo talkin' bout?
TL: But I didn't come across the picture of you in the bathtub with Lindsay.
RM: Let me clean your plate for you.
TL: Wanna lick it?
RM: Ummmm, no.
MD: That lady down there is carrying a lamp shade.
TL: I think she's gonna take it to a party and when she comes home, she's gonna put it on her head. Then her boyfriend is going to see her and say, "Hey! Why didn't you invite me?"
RM: I'm going to have a cucumber-potato chip sandwich.
MD:That's weird.
RM: We'll see.
*Chews thoughtfully*
MD: That's more than weird.
RM: You're right. It wasn't the taste sensation I was expecting.
MD: Haha! The taste sensation of the century!... Aargh! My wrist is itchy!
RM: Well, take one of those ice cubes and rub it on there.
TL: Or, do you have a stick of deodorant? If you rub it with that it'll stop itching.
RM stares.
RM: You think she just carries a stick of deodorant in her purse?
TL: I don't know what she carries in her purse! If somebody she knew walked up and said to her "You stink!", she might want to have it!
MD: Mimes putting on deodorant in the restaurant.
TL: I'm serious, I read it in a book!
RM: Oh, then it must be true.
TL: I think it was a Southern remedy or something.
RM: Yeah, the air is different down there.
RM: I'm hot.
MD: Me, too.
TL: So am I.
RM: Alright, time to go.
That concludes this section of the Night Hens Chatroom. Do we know how to have fun or what?
Right now we're at Cafe Latte having dinner. Salads, sandwiches, and of course, ridiculously caloric desserts.
TL: Can I have a bite of your foccacia?
MD: If I can have a bite of your cake.
TL: I am not a 'Hen'.
MD: We're still chicks. I'm having technical difficulties. (trying to cut her tomato)
Lots of munching.
TL: You're not putting down all of our dialogue.
RM: That's because it's lame. I'm only writing the cute stuff.
MD: We can make eyes at cute boys, like that one right there. (points to a four year old)
I have a lemon shrimp pasta salad, balsamic vegetable salad and chicken ceaser pasta salad and the chicken ceaser is the best.
RM: MMMMM, that is good. What else can I have?
MD: You can have my balsamic tomatoes.
TL: (sarcastically) MMMMM, I wish I had some balsamic tomatoes.
RM: Eat your potato chips. I paid good money for those.
TL: No, I want to eat my cake.
RM: I want to eat your cake, too.
TL: Apparently my cake is in hostile territory, with predators on all sides.
TL: I was looking at Faith's baby pictures today. You were so cuuuute.
MD: I'm still cute. Watchoo talkin' bout?
TL: But I didn't come across the picture of you in the bathtub with Lindsay.
RM: Let me clean your plate for you.
TL: Wanna lick it?
RM: Ummmm, no.
MD: That lady down there is carrying a lamp shade.
TL: I think she's gonna take it to a party and when she comes home, she's gonna put it on her head. Then her boyfriend is going to see her and say, "Hey! Why didn't you invite me?"
RM: I'm going to have a cucumber-potato chip sandwich.
MD:That's weird.
RM: We'll see.
*Chews thoughtfully*
MD: That's more than weird.
RM: You're right. It wasn't the taste sensation I was expecting.
MD: Haha! The taste sensation of the century!... Aargh! My wrist is itchy!
RM: Well, take one of those ice cubes and rub it on there.
TL: Or, do you have a stick of deodorant? If you rub it with that it'll stop itching.
RM stares.
RM: You think she just carries a stick of deodorant in her purse?
TL: I don't know what she carries in her purse! If somebody she knew walked up and said to her "You stink!", she might want to have it!
MD: Mimes putting on deodorant in the restaurant.
TL: I'm serious, I read it in a book!
RM: Oh, then it must be true.
TL: I think it was a Southern remedy or something.
RM: Yeah, the air is different down there.
RM: I'm hot.
MD: Me, too.
TL: So am I.
RM: Alright, time to go.
That concludes this section of the Night Hens Chatroom. Do we know how to have fun or what?