(He’s sitting up in bed while asleep.)
M: Lay down babe.
H: Fuck you, Indiana Jones!
M: I’m sure he feels the same way about you.
H: Eject the proletariat.
H: Get in the rowboat… or I’ll kill you with a fridge.
H: Don’t be racist.
H: Hm. Okay.
H: (whimpers and thrashes around)
M: (holds his hand) Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.
H: (in a whiny voice) Math is hard!
H: I know what happened.
H: He tried to go around the side, but the mailbox ate him.
H: It’s okay, he’s a terrorist.
H: He hunts for blood…
H: He has to have it…
H: The great Satan…Steve.
(I’m up watching television and he’s been sleeping for a couple of hours. He comes stumbling out of the bedroom and walks straight into the kitchen. I hear him open the fridge and start eating Jello right out of the pan.)
M: Hey babe, whatcha doin’?
H: I’m in here.
M: Yes, you are. What are you doing? Eating Jello?
H: (mouth full) No.
M: Are you sure…?
M: Are you eating the Jello?
M: I love you.
H: Argh…on a mountain.