Laughter is the Best Medicine


-My boss wants to…
-Transfer you to Guadalajara. You told me already. You’re right. -Did you see the meme of that kid?
-I’ve shown you already. Cesar, we have to break up. What? Can I at least know why? -Because of this.
-This what? Because I was sure you’d ask,
“Can I at least know why?”. And not just, “Why?”,
like normal people. Am I that predictable? -Lorena, come on.
-Especially that. I knew you would say,
“Lorena, come on.” It’s easy for you
to say I’m predictable and that you know what I’ll say
after I said it. It’s like
the weatherman saying, “It rained yesterday.” -How did you…?
-Your comparisons are always dumb. You can’t know
everything I’ll say. Say whatever word you want. Table, fork, plate, fish, wine, dick. Oh, come on! You always say what you see. The table, the plate,
the fork, the fish. And every time
you get pissed off, -you say, “Oh, come on!”.
-Oh, come on! That’s not true. I don’t always say
what I see. Acapulco. Belly, peso, devaluation. Poor, Chavo, barrel! The fish made you think
about Acapulco, then you thought
about “I move my belly.” That made you remember
that anecdote you love, but it’s stupid,
of the kid who told you, “I move my belly,”
but you gave him no money. Then you thought
about the devaluation and how you were poor and related to Chavo,
but you didn’t live in a barrel. Now you have your right hand
on your forehead, you’re wiping the sweat off
and you have you mouth open like… looking like an idiot. You’ll grab
the glass with your right hand, then with your left hand, but now that I said it,
you won’t grab it. The only thing you say is, “Is there really nothing
I can do to surprise you?” -Mine are bigger!
-Mine are bigger! Sorry, fatty.
We have to break up.

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