There is a apparently, a cartoon in which a dog comes home wearing a pink handkerchief around it's neck. I believe it is Southpark. M and T have seen this. I have not. So when T asks, "Where do you keep getting that damn scarf?" to no one in particular, I look perplexed. I wonder if he is talking to me.
They finally tire of my totally lost expression and explain the scarf to me. In the show, the dog comes home wearing a pink scarf - because the dog is gay M explained - and the owner continually takes the scarf off the dog and throws it on the ground, only to ask the dog the same question minutes later in the show.
Hmm. "Well, obviously, T, that is ridiculous. The dog? Does not have thumbs. How would the dog tie the scarf on itself. Thumbs are essential in knot tying."
"Krissy? It's a freaking cartoon. It doesn't have to be realistic. That's like asking how the hell a monkey could fly a space rocket from the ocean to the moon..."
"T? Monkeys can fly spaceships. Know why? Because monkeys have thumbs. Obviously. And they are smart. In fact, they are pretty damn creepy. Not the real ones so much as the stuffed ones. Especially the ones with cymbals and also the see-no-hear-no-speak-no-evil ones."
"Monkeys are not all that creepy." K throws in from the peanut gallery.
"Monkeys are creepy. Especially the flying ones in the Wizard of Oz movie."
M agrees. "Know what really bothers me about those monkeys? They wear clothes. And also the stupid hats. I mean, if I were a flying monkey, my hat would be all blown around on my head. Those hats though, just stay right on top of the monkey heads. It's... odd. I would not dress my flying monkeys up in stupid hats and creepy uniforms."
T wonders out loud why the monkeys are creepier to us than the green woman on the broom. I explain that we can quite obviously relate to the green bitchy lady.
He then wonders out loud how one would go about teaching a monkey to fly.
"Probably, you would just have to do it like when you teach a kid to swim. Just throw it off a seven story building."
T has fucking issues.
We are silent for a moment.
"And then you just hope there is a pond or something under the building to catch the kid." Says K.
"No," says T. "We throw the monkeys off of the building, to see if they can fly. If they can't? Then I would have to go back down at get another monkey, and another one..."
"Well, I would personally just take all of the monkeys up at one time, so as not to make so many trips up the seven story building." M says.
We are all kinds of serious. "I agree, but then, you know, we think ahead like that T. It is probably just part of being girls. We are all logical and shit."
T ignores our superb planning skills. "Then I think I would have to keep going to the flying monkey store and buying more monkeys. There is possibly a limit to how many flying monkeys one can purchase."
I roll my eyes at T. "You can not buy a flying monkey T. Obviously, they do not exist, so there would have to be some genetic engineering going on. You would have to build a laboratory and then start engineering genes. Which is scary. They would be hybrids. Hybrids? Can not breed."
T thinks I am taking the fun out of things.
At this point, for some reason, K is sitting on the couch, one arm held high over his head. I realize suddenly that no one seems to have shared with K the fact that M is crazy about armpits. So, I scream of course. I am saving his life, and also probably his innocence.
"For the love of God K, put your arm down... M has this thing for armpits. She could maybe possibly molest you if you allow her to catch the scent of your armpits."
K promises to lock his door when he goes to bed. He says he will sleep with an eye open. He does not seem to be overly concerned that he may be molested in his sleep now that M has noticed the appeal of his deodorant.
T? Glances at us, visibly disturbed by this turn in the conversation.
"Bro? Sleep with a fucking handgun tonight."
This coming from the crazed flying monkey murderer.