ChodeKING: how did you meet him
Zack: Remember how I was telling you about Ghost Dad?
Zack: He came through the Mellotron just like Ghost Dad.
ChodeKING: whats he like
Zack: He's a cowboy. He's very rugged and no-nonsense, but he's a bit bewildered by the information age. He's also very excitable and it's his birthday.
ChodeKING: yo tell him happy bday from the C-KING
Zack: Hang on, he's climbing the drapes again.
Zack: Alright, I'm back. I filled a squirt bottle so I can just squirt him with that if he starts acting up again.
ChodeKING: did you tell him happy bday????
Zack: No! We already did his cake and presents. I'm trying to calm him down before bed.
Zack: Look, if you want to clean up cowboy scat and pay for new drapes I'll be happy to get him all worked up over his birthday again. Otherwise, forget it.
ChodeKING: wat presents did yuo get him??
Zack: A William Henry Harrison box kite, a flask of Laudanum, and an iPod Touch preloaded with August Rush and the entire discography of Gary Numan.
Zack: He started crying when he heard "Are 'Friends' Electric?" and we had to take the iPod away from him.
ChodeKING: that sux yo shoulda got him a zune
Zack: Some lessons we learn the hard way, ChodeKING.
ChodeKING: how long have you had him?
Zack: Hang on, he's eating my ficus and the squirt bottle isn't working.
ChodeKING: whats a ficus
Zack: Sorry about that, he was climbing on the keyboard. I think he really wants to talk to you.
ChodeKING: ill talk to him
Zack: Okay, but whatever you do don't mention his birthday. Even if he brings it up!
ChodeKING: what do i do if he does?
Zack: Just change the subject to something else. Talk about cattledrives or Commanche Indians or something.
ChodeKING: dont kno much about those
Zack: That's okay, he loves to talk about them. Alright, I'm putting him on. He may be a little slow, he's never typed before.
Zack: And he's illiterate.
Zack: And he screams if the computer makes a sound or something moves on the screen.
ChodeKING: got it
Zack: Alright, here's the mellotron cowboy...
"Really, Holmes!" I dropped into my seat, shocked. "You are remarkably tall! What are you, six foot six? Six foot eight?"
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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