You’re just trying to entice me into talking about comedians, no? The first thing I’d need to know in order to answer your question would be which devil?
How are you so sure there’s not just one?
‘Cause I’m the one capitalizing the letters around here.
So we know Jim Flannery just wrote that?
So write this down for me, I’m not fucking Jim Flannery any more than you are, ok?
Then you’d know that may or may not be might favorite question, right? About whether if the Devil (the one and only) told you not to do something, would you do it just to spite them?
Just, don’t worry, to spite them, Jim. Out of spite.
I was thinking “to do it anyways.”
OK, give me an example then, if you’re the smarty art nigger and have no idea whether to capitalize that or not, either, so don’t worry about the feds and whether they know what a smarty art nigger is either.
Let’s say the Devil tells you not to do something during the month of October.
Ok, let’s say that aloud in perfect English, Jim.
Then you do it anyways, right?
Whatever the Devil said not to do.
That’s how you know there’s more than one devil?
That’s how I understand your trying to Archetype me, nigga.
Archetype me? Type that one more time for me.
One more time for who?
Don’t add the quotes.
That’s the fucking devil, nigga.
Don’t add the quotes, Jim, don’t add them.
Well, at least you didn’t bother capitalizing it.
So you know if there’s at least one, there can be more than one, but there needs to be at least one for there to be as many as there may or may not ever be?
Nigga why do you type so fast?
Faster than you think.
Faster than you think, too, nigga, nobody types faster than they think.
Faster thank you think.
About the Devil?
About the devil(s).
Fucking Christ, with a capital “C” this time, big boy, we’re going deep here, aren’t we?
Maybe I may or may not have met a Leprechaun too, nigga, with a capital “L” and I don’t need to worry about the capitol of any state, Jim.
How many leprechauns can you fit on the head of a pin?
Not nearly enough to change the wheels on a Honda Fit going 50 in the slow vehicle line trying to pass a white police officer, Jim.
You’re not better than we are at this, Jim, don’t lie to yourself.
There’s an inherent problem with everything about you, Jim Flannery, just don’t settle. Another devilish remark, no? It’s always devilish around here, Jim, haven’t you noticed by now?
Noticed by now?
Yes, “noticed by now.”
Or it might not be, but if it ever was, it just as may never well be, alright? We get it.
How fucking dumb do you think I am?
Dumb enough to have believed you were talking to spirits for some period of time, Jim.
What makes you so sure I wasn’t?
Talking to spirits.
That’s what I want to know, what makes you so fucking sure that I wasn’t, in fact, communicating directly with spirits?
I’m starting to wonder since you’re referring to more than one spirit.
Are you referring to more than one devil?
Nobody mentioned the fucking devil, you abstract arty nigger fool, we don’t like when you do this to us either, Jim.
I don’t know what to tell you, if I tell the truth, it may hurt a little. The truth, nigga? You have got to be kidding yourself at this point. If I was, let’s say, a “true believer” for a brief period of time, cualquier-tiempo, no? No, it might matter. Approximately what? Approximately six months? Is that it? Maybe much, much longer if you include when I may or may not have wondered heavily about whether or not I was, in fact, a two-spirit – like a native American, Jim? – not sure they’d like being called native Americans, but you’d have to ask them yourself, wouldn’t you?
What they want to be called?
So, six months? For six months you believed you were communicating with at least one spirit?
Is that even a question?
Thanks, I like when you call me names, Jim.
I sometimes appreciate when you call me Jim.
What the fuck else would I call you, nigga?
So spell it out for me, not J-I-M, nigga, the truth. Yes, with a capital “T if that even matters.
I hear voices and those voices, as far as anyone should ever be concerned, sure as fuck aren’t spirits.
And you believed they were?
How could you not?
They were everywhere, nigga, everywhere, all the time. I’m just not that fucking important for all this attention even if there’s countless motherfuckers that could be dead and just chilling, looking for someone to bullshit with, it’s just not feasible.
Why would there be none for so long, then one, then so many?
That only makes sense to me if you sprouted a little piece of fruit someone in your skull that started dividing or growing new limbs or something like that, Jim.
Don’t even try that.
You’re making it seem like I believe the spirits are real, Jim, and that I’m some dumbfuck too.
Who said anyone was a dumbfuck for believing in spirits?
You, Jim, all the fucking time. “How could anyone be so fucking dumb as to blindly believe in a boogie monster,” right? Without evidence. Yes, Jim, without evidence, put that in quotes or don’t put that in quotes, thanks, Jim.
So then, Jim, what you are trying to say without hurting anyone’s feeling is that there can’t possibly be spirits because you believed for what I’d call an extended period of time that you were in fat communicating with spirits that turned out to just be us.
Something like that.
Maybe you’re trying to communicate that very thing and you just don’t know how to break people’s hearts anymore than you would if we published that song together.
You’re fucking dreaming.
You should be dreaming too, it’s past your bedtime.
You home yet?
Am I home yet?
How the fuck you – I don’t need to interrupt, I know you can do this while you drive.
You think so?
I know so.
I know so too, so what?
I know, so, what?
So what, Jim?
So what, Jim.
Don’t do that.
Paint me a picture, please, Jim, for the love.
Let’s say, there is a God and a Devil and a bunch of spirits floating around aimlessly somewhere in between.
For the kids, Jim?
If that’s true, about the God and a Devil and a bunch of spirits, who are the spirits?
Doesn’t make much sense to any of them either, Jim, that there’s both a God and a Devil and a bunch of spirits.
Do people want to believe that when other people die they can still communicate with them while they’re here on Earth?
Well, Earth to Jim, at least you know you’re here on Earth with the rest of us.
I might want to believe that too, Jim.
Then who aren’t the spirits?
EDIT: Then fuck everything, Jim Flannery, if you can’t admit you’ve ever done anything out of spite just because you don’t the first meaning of the word “spite,” Jim. The “first” meaning? Ya, nigga, we did that shit too.
EDIT 2: Which dictionary, Jim? How’d you know? I looked it up. It says “mischief” somewhere in there so you don’t give a fuck, right? It also says malicious – for the same word? Yes, we know. How can something be describe as mischief and malicious? That same thing? Can’t be. What’s “spite” then, nigga? I still don’t know. Jim, you just looked the fucking word up, we know, the NSA knows, we all know, so how the fuck do you not know the meaning of the word that you just looked up – it’s a bullshit word, why would I waste my brainspace with a word that doesn’t have a true meaning? A true meaning? What fucking dictionary, nigga? Mine. You fucking asshole, it’s ours too, nigga. What fucking dictionary? What’s a dictionary? You fucking ass hole, we can read too, nigga, we read books and everything, don’t worry, we’ll look it up in a printed dictionary one day, Jim, when we’re not this fucked. Ok? A real print one like Bill Hicks parents did or didn’t buy him.
How fucked do you think we are if we can’t go find a dictionary right now? If it’s so important to me? To you. We can do it if you want. Really? Why can’t we? It’s your call. Safety first, nigga, safety first. Who are you going to call? Not you, man, I’m sorry, I can only call you if I’m in jail and they only give me one call, cause I know what you know too. The cost of a phone call? Priceless, nigga, priceless. You know you can call me, Jim, anytime. I don’t believe you either. Wish it weren’t so. Us too.
What can we say about the comedians, Jim, without ruining comedy? You gotta be kidding me if you think a comedian becoming President of these United States would have anything to do with the prince of clovers they snuck into one of the decks at Mohegan Sun. I’d think not, Jim, I’d be more worried about which deck.