humour

Two friends, on lack of sheep.

Cecily: I have no sheep in my apartment.

Charles: Where do you get your wool from? How do you stay warm in the winter?

Cecily: Harrods’ cashmere.

Charles: But do your blankets and throws offer you unconditional love and, more importantly, loyalty?

Cecily: No, but my Italian greyhound does.

Two friends, on traffic lights.

Arnaud: You are a traffic light. If there were more traffic lights like you, road safety would dramatically increase. Cars would come to a standstill!

Cecily: If traffic lights sashayed around the streets with a complete disregard for cars, we’d all think we were living in Rome.

Alexander, on old authors.

Alexander: I keep reexamining the words of old authors I love in the hope of finding some semblance of clarity and comfort in their familiarity; yet it’s all for naught, and my ongoing stare-down with the Void has become more treacherous than ever.

Two friends, on escalators.

Charles: There is something very soothing about this escalator.

Cecily: At the end of a tough day, do you go up and down it and feel like you’re in a narrow, metallic womb? And is Freud’s escalator anything like Schrödinger’s box?

Charles: Well it’s certainly a space where there is only one logical direction and no choice. I think you’d quite benefit from Freud-Shrödinger’s escalator.

Two friends, on denouement.

Cecily: I’m hungry all the time. I don’t know why. I want a big bowl of pasta.

Charles: Please don’t be with child. Movies end with marriage and childbirth because nothing happens thereafter.

Sisters, on abs.

Delilah: You seem slightly flattened.

Cecily: Flattened how? Empty? Somebody told me that the other day. I think I’m waiting for something exciting to happen and ruining other people’s exciting lives in the process. This is because I am a heartless succubus that enjoys sucking the life out of others for my personal pleasure.

Delilah: Jesus, I was just talking about your abs.

Cecily: How can you see my abs?

Delilah: That was a joke; a line to contrast the near tide of somewhat uncharacteristic personal revelation.