"Baaawb? Oh Baaawb?"
"Cope, has anyone ever told you you have a voice like an f***ing howler monkey in heat?"
"Baaaw-ub! Why do you hurt my feelings like that? I can't help how my voice sounds. I don't think that's very nice of you to say that. Now I'm going to be all self-conscious of how my voice sounds. Thanks a laaawt, Baaawb!"
"Oh for God's sake, what do you want?"
"Well, I was wondering if you'd write me a column this week."
"Write you a column? Or write a column for you?"
"What difference does it make if you write one to me or for me? It's the same thing, Bob."
"For one thing, if I write a column to you, I might get credit for writing the g**d*** thing. Because I sure as hell never get any credit when I write one for you."
"Gee, Bob. I didn't realize you were so sensitive about that. I just figured you were like that Martin Dugard fella who writes the books that Bill O'Reilly takes credit for writing. He doesn't seem to mind standing in O'Reilly's shadow, so I assumed you don't mind standing in mine."
"Cope! You f***ing a**h*** p***k! I'm not standing in your shadow or anyone else's g** d*** shadow! You write your own f***ing column! And get the hell offa my lawn!"
"Aw, Baaawb. C'maaawn. I'm way behind on my writing work, trying to keep up with my blog and all, and I need your help. Baaaad! And besides... this isn't your lawn. This is a Wal-Mart's parking lot, and you just parked your camper here because they kicked you out of the KOA campground for cursing so much."
"I'm f***ing parked here 'cause I f***ing wanna be parked here, Cope! And that's none of your f***ing business, anyhow! And what the f*** you talking about?... your blog?
"Oh. Didn't you know I have a blog? Yeah, I have a blog now, Bob. I thought you knew. I started it last November and it's on the Boise Weekly Internet double-ya double-ya double-ya website thingie every Friday and Monday. And the deal is, see, sometimes I get behind in my writing, or I have trouble thinking up two more things to talk about every week, and then I get this panicky feeling like I can't breathe and my stomach cramps up like I'm about to puke and I get all constipated and can't sleep so then I fall even farther behind and sometimes when I do sleep, I have this dream where I'm walking around downtown Boise during lunch hour and everyone is sitting out at the sidewalk tables eating their lunches and I'm naked... yeah, bare-ass naked... and I try to run into that new bank building where the big hole used to be so's I can hide, but they're not about to let a naked guy in, so there I am, standing on the corner of Main and whatever, naked as a newborn baby, feeling like I'm gonna puke, with everyone from Mayor Bieter to Dee Sarton standing around staring at me, and then I wake up thinking I got to get to writing something for my blog, but I got no ideas on what to write about, so I says to myself, laying there in the dark all covered with sweat, 'Why don't you go ask good ol' Bob to write a column for you and take some of the pressure off?' And so here I am. And... wouldja?"
"S**t, Cope. Are you sure this f***ing blog thing is worth it? I mean, you're sounding a little..."
"I was thinking more crazed."
"No no. I'll be OK if I can just get caught up. And I love having a blog now. See, when I first started, I didn't even like to say the word 'blog.' Blaaawg. It's an ugly word, don't you think? Like one of those old '50s horror movies, ha ha. Mothra versus Blaaawg! ha ha. But now, it's like I'm a hip modern hep-cat kinda techno-dude because I have my own blog. Get what I mean, Bob? Hey, Bob, did you ever notice how much Baaawb sounds like blaaawg?"
"Cope! Shut up. You're making my f***ing head hurt. Now listen, I think what you should do is go get your pal Red back. You were always a lot more relaxed when you had Red around to play the crazy son-of-a-b****."
"I thought you didn't like Red."
"I don't. He's a f***ing idiot. But it's you that has to put up with him. Not me. And when he was around, you spent a lot less time bugging the s*** outa me."
"Golly. I'm not sure he'd come back. Last I heard, he was running around Kuna in one of those three-cornered hats with about 50 tea bags stapled to the brim. I heard you can hardly see his face through the tea bags. I think he's running for governor or something."
"You should try, Cope. Think of it this way... you look about 80-degrees smarter than you really are when you're around Red."
"Yeah, that's true. He always brought out the best in me."
"So definitely, you ought to call Red and apologize for firing him. I bet he'd come back. In fact, why don't you go home and do that right now."
"So maybe I'll do that. But you're still gonna write me a column anyway? Won't you? Bob?"
"Oh f***! Yes, I'll write you a f***ing column. Anything you want. Just... go home."