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I was once roped into conversing with this rather mookish neighbour of mine, Tommy. We lived in the same apartment building together, so naturally we were cut out to be besties, or so Tommy figured. I did such a great job of avoiding him for years, too! Tommy wanted to smoke me out or something, so I capitulated through the corridor and into his mirrored abode- he had practically no furniture whatsoever, dark stains be-speckling his carpet, and nothing at all on the walls, save for probably half a dozen 8x10 glossy photos of Johnny Depp, some of them in cheap frames, and some of them without - each bearing a signature across it. No two signatures appeared the same though. Realizing Tommy probably signed each of them himself, I feigned response to my own pocket with all due alacrity, and flipped open my cellphone, miming a nonexistent conversation with progressive urgency. I had to go. Sorry, Tommy. Some other time. I'd like to thank The Academy.
No other time, naturally, but I didn't want to hurt the big lug's feelings, especially in light of his possibly tenuous (ahem) grasp.
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There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
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