David: I'm so sick of you making the same jokes over and over. Same cadence, same structure, same joke.
Gary: Something about the weather? Happy Halloween? How are the kids? How 'bout them Giants? How about some small talk? Nooooo! Why don't we jump right in and have you attack me.
David: Okay, take it easy Sleepless in Santa Barbara, I know where this is going: yes, you got out of Seattle, and I'm still here.
Gary: All I want to say is, don't you go be sympathetic to our heckler, Dave!!! Don't you do this to me! You told me from the beginning that we were going to be unapologetic about our stunted ability to formulate comedic perspective!*
Point? Counter Point is our experiment in creative journalism. We bravely wade Speedo deep into the dark magic of Gonzo journalism. It's punchy. It's pungent and odorous. Offensive. Juvenile. Self-absorbed. Irreverent. Punk Rock, even. It's supposed to be.
David: I agree with everything you just said, except parallels to Hunter S. That seems a bit much…I was thinking more Bob Loblaw. Anyway, what's your point?
Gary: My point is that our writing shoots ping pong balls from the orifice of our soul. Balls doused in pure grain alcohol. And then set on fire. And then shot out from our soul. That's how we write, Dave. Like flaming ping pong balls.
What does the Point? writing project mean to you, Dave?
David: Well Gary, I suppose that I really like writing with you, other than your ping pong ball stuff. In fact, I just like writing: it makes me happy. I hate sharing it with the world, but also appreciate that that is what you're supposed to do. It makes the bitter more bitter, but also the sweet sweeter.
We celebrate that, Dave. Evangelize it from the hot showers. It's bitter and sweet. We dedicate Point? Counter Point! to all the swimmers that recognize and appreciate the beauty of proper poop being talked. Right out of our digital mouths. To you, our digital readers. With love. And flaming ping pong balls.
David: What are you talking about? What heckler? We have one heckler, and she's the American Public. Do you remember what used to happen before we started deleting everyone's comments? And, can we talk about swimming for once? Or at least creatively avoid it?
Gary: You're deleting comments?
David (ignoring Gary): Gary, don't be mad at the comment boards, be mad at yourself: we're the crappy ones.
Me? I hate myself. In fact, I take back everything I said up there about why I write this column…really, I write it because it's bad, and that's what I deserve. Well that, and apparently I'm the one person in the world (other than Mike Gustafson) who thinks you're funny. Which, incidentally, makes me hate myself…
Gary: Why don't we just rewrite the old testament…
David (finishing thought): …it's a vicious cycle…
Gary (not hearing David due to escalating volume and vigor): …or eliminate rap music from public airwaves!! Maybe we should be more “accessible” by writing a heckler into our dang-num column?! Why don't we?!
(Yelling) MAYBE WE SHOULD TRY JUGGLING CHAINSAWS WITH OUR…
David: Whoa!
Gary: …TOO WHILE WE'RE AT IT!!!
(Gary proceeds to thrash about violently)
David: Gary? Gary! Put the melancholy down!
(Just over four minutes elapse)
Gary (breathing heavily as he removes his fist from the cabinet): You're as fun as reading the Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report!
David (laughing): What?
Gary: Just because some “lunatic” out there takes us seriously it's like suppression of the mind around here all of the sudden?!
(Gary exhales deeply as he sits on an overturned chair with all of it's fabric torn from it in shreds)
…It's like Gandhi said; “Free your mind…”
David: Actually, I think that was the writer of Human Centipede 2. But dude, I do have good news for you: We just ruined another chance at greatness – the column is killed at this point – so we might as well talk about something else.
Um…how are things going? Everything uh, everything going good in your life? Are you good?
Gary: Yeah. You know. Taking turds and flippin' birds…
David: That tough guy act isn't going to work on me, Gary.
David (Gently taking a step forward and reaching out his hand): Gary, I know that sticks and stones break your bones, but so can comment board words.
(After one hour and twenty three minutes of unconsolable sobbing into Dave's digital embrace)
Gary (perfectly chipper): God, I feel much better! I think I should immediately patent the phrase “Taking Turds and Flippin' Birds.”
David: Actually that'd be a trademark. Anyway, Gary, I'm proud of you. I really felt like we connected back there in demonstrating your vulnerability.
Gary: What the ramrod are you talking about?
David: Our non-fans wanted you to show vulnerability. And you did. You can't ignore that we just had a breakthrough chapter in this magazine called life back there.
Gary: Lighten up, Dave. Don't listen to that heckler. We're not funny? We're not even trying to be funny. We're trying for terrible. And you wanna know what? We nail it. Every time. Like champions.
David: I think she said that YOU weren't funny. “Gary is the problem” is what she said, I seem to recall.
Gary: Winning. Jeah!
David: Okay, wrap-up time: What are you going as for Halloween.
Gary: Michael Phelps. That or my fifth year as Jar Jar Binks.
David: Perhaps we should go as Hermanos Mariachi?
Gary: Si! (Translation: Jeah!)
*[Editor's Note: You can skip the next paragraphs and get straight to David's comment. He did.]