How'd the writing go? Allow me to answer that question with a conversation:
Sunday afternoon, 6pm, my parent's basement...
M: I'M TRYING TO WORK CHRIS, SO YOU NEED TO WORK WITH ME. STOP MAKING FUN OF EVERY SINGLE THING I SAY AND JUST WORK WITH ME. Jesus. Did you take your Ritalin today?
TC: UH, NO. Asshole. Did you take your feelings pill today?
TC: Well. That might explain a few things.
M: [Shift eyes around the room uncomfortably]
C: So. Should we do that, ass around while they kick in, and try writing again later?
But all fighting (and that's via verbal assault, Twitter, and gchat status update, mind you) aside, we've come out the other end of our writing lock-in alive and—dare I say it—stronger. Or with a deeper appreciation for marginally discounted rotisserie chicken and Maya Angelou jokes at the very least. I need to get some sleep before I take Chris to the bus station so he can scamper back to his corner of the mid-Atlantic, but I'll try to get you a Jersey Shore update later. In the mean time, allow me to share with you the most magical thing I've seen in 25 years on this planet. This is a picture my sister took of an ad she saw in SkyMall magazine for a cat toilet training system called, the "Litter Kwitter". They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this one only needs six. Specifically: "The fuck are you looking at?"
I'm sure it's the four days of Hormell cheese, Mountain Dew, and old-fashioned hard work talking, but oh my fucking God—it NEVER gets old.