अ लिटिल मोरे gumption

Too late. Yeah, you should have gone. But it’s cold outside. I don’t want to quarrel with you. Expecially in writing. ‘Cause you can’t even spell! Imagine how much worse this would be if you could write with the left hand. Hey, I’m not trying to impress anyone with ambidexterity. Or vocabulary, huh? You’re too concerned about space though. & you, time. No doubt. None of it, actually. What is wrong with you. Eh eh, that wasn’t a question. Or just a rhetorical one, perhaps? I wish you would have a little more gumption. Now that’s the critic talking, not the quarreler. That word always sounded like “squirrel” to me. Quit changing the subject. What subject? Well maybe you’re right, no, I think she’s right. How do you know I’m a “she!” Hush, I wasn’t speaking to you. To whom then? To late. You mean too late? Cállate. What. Too late for what? To undo this stupid talk? Now there’s something we can agree upon. Finally. Fine-a-fuck-ing-ly. So dramatique. Oh please Queen. That’s right. Now start addressing me as one. Thought you said you wasn’t a she. That weren’t me. O now you gotsta go on copying me—improper grammar styles. Whatever sassy pants. As though you invented style. Well I wouldn’t be bitin’ yours with wack expressions like, “sassy pantalones.” Get out your trousers already. You know my steaz. Oh por favor! Get out your head already. I done did that transcendental meditation shit awready. It’s much more amusing to taunt you than get into no-time-space-body zone. None a that free your mind garbage. Speaking of which, where in the body are you? Same place as you, yeah? Why do people end their sentences like that, “yeah?” So weird. You’re weird. So immature. You’re immature. So judgmental. Naw, juz mental. Takes a genius to be crazy. No, dumb ass. A crazy to be genius. Huh. What? What. Yeah, I get what you’re saying. Why, ‘cause you know everything. Well, yes. Then why did you hesitate? Why are you so petty? Nevermind, I already know. Good save. Go to bed. Wake the fuck up! I love you. I love you too. Me three. Let’s not fight anymore. I ain’t mad atcha. Why can’t you be original? Always quoting Tupac. Sure, like he’s the first and only person to have ever said that. Well it was the tone. Tony! Toni! Toné! I don’t even have a voice! Quit playin’ victim. Well it’s true. “You can’t handle the truth!” Oh come on. Cut it out. Tellin’ you. My shit is sat-chu-ray-ted dude. Come on Stillness. Where you at? Time to get enlightened etc. Etcetra? Like a bridge over trou—No. Like the London—Yeah. That one fell down, yeah? You sound Hawaiian. You smell Hawaiian. Why you gotta be racialist. You thought it would be difficult to argue. You got issues. Clearly, this could go on for pages. Clearly. Claramente. Now you’re agreeing. You killed it. This ain’t gonna work out. I can already see. It’s not you. Yeah, it’s you.