(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: Raise shields.
H: Kool-Aid Man.
M: Ah, that’s a good reason.
H: That motherfucker…
M: OH YEAH!
(My morning alarm goes off. It’s a soothing piano tune layered over the sounds of a babbling brook and birdsong.)
H: Fuck you, jazz! Get out of my house!
H: What’s that smell? What are you doing?
M: Putting on some lotion.
H: That’s silly.
M: I do what I want.
H: But that’s silly.
M: Putting on lotion?
H: No, doing what you want.
M: … Do you like the smell?
H: No, it smells like elves burning.
[5 minutes later]
H: Why do you smell like that? It’s like a moose in a Christmas factory.
H: It’s like a candle shit itself!
M: Why are you all the way over there when you’ve got the whole bed?
H: Don’t you treat me like a chump!
M: Okay, I will.
H: You’re gonna get bums to kick my ass.
M: (digging quietly through my sock drawer)
H: What are you still doing here?
M: I’ve got no socks on. I can’t leave without socks.
H: Stupid goblins…
M: Why are you all scrunched up on the edge of the bed like that?
H: I’m Betty White’s bitch.
M: Right… Okay, I’m off. Sleep well.
H: I’ma go guard the Rainbow Bridge.
M: Alright babe, have fun. Don’t fall off!
H: You will be visited by three ghosts.
H: They’re bitches.
M: Uh, okay.
H: It’s Christmas or something… but they’re still bitches.