Me: Can you please stop calling Ralph a half-dried turd?
Ryan: I’m not CALLING him a half-dried turd. Sometimes I just see him sitting on the cat shelves and my immediate gut reaction is to wonder if Ted crapped up there and then it turned kinda white in spots - you know like a turd dried in the sun. But then I realize that it’s just Ralph. You know. Because his fur is black and white.
Me: So you’re not calling Ralph a half-dried turd, you just legit think that there’s a gigantic half-dried turd up on the shelf. Like a turd 1.5x bigger than Ted. That Ted has crapped out something ONE AND ONE HALF times bigger than he himself is.
Ryan: Yes.
Me: So it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you tried to pick him up and he ran up to that step to get away from you?
Ryan: I told you - I just thought there was a half-dried turd sitting up there. I didnt’ REALIZE it was Ralph.
Me: No wonder he hates you.
Ryan: What did I do?
Me: YOU KEEP CALLING HIM A HALF-DRIED TURD!!!! He speaks English.
Ryan: Then he should realize I wasn’t CALLING him a half-dried turd. I just thought he was one.
Me: You’re a half-dried turd!
Ryan: That doesn’t even make sense.
Me: It makes sense. IT MAKES DOLLARS AND SENSE!
Ryan: [Looks over my shoulder]. Oh my God. Ted! Did you crap on that shelf?! Oh wait…it’s just Ralph again.
Me: Whatever.
