My fuckin brother
- Patrick: Let Mom know it's raining cats and dogs here, and I just stepped in a poodle, but at least I'm toasty and dry cause of your jacket and Mom's slightly feminine lavender umbrella
- Me: You stepped in a poodle? Messy.
- Patrick: It's a beautifully crafted pun. I don't have rain galoshes to stomp in puddles with impunity. So if you stomp in puddles you get wet. That's life.
- Me: And if you stomp in poodles they might bleed all over your non-galoshes.
- Patrick: So you're saying poodles are nothing but blood in fragile bubbles, and not a body encased in a skeleton battle tested to resist wear and tear right down to the last tuft of hair on its ferocious war-torn body
- Me: I mean...they're pretty fragile looking. Not exactly harbingers of fear, are they? A couple of good stomps would do them in.
- Patrick: What, am I going to randomly stomp on a poodle and tell its owner I'm aiding in the natural selection of stomp-resistant poodles?
- Me: You mean you didn't already do that?!
- Patrick: I had a quiz. Poodles cannot be stomped until quizzes have been had.
