Douglas and I are taking a day trip to Flatonia, TX for a Beltane festival. When will we most likely murder each other?
a) On the way to Flatonia.
b) While in Flatonia.
c) On the way back from Flatonia.
Taking bets now. Don’t forget to show your math. Also, I really, really need there to be a drag queen named Flatonia Texas, if someone could get on that for me.
UPDATE – 9:50 AM
We’ve been driving for 30 minutes, and Douglas has already hidden my water bottle in an attempt to kill me by dehydration. However, I anticipated this strategy and drank nine glasses of water before we left. My bladder’s about to explode, but I won this round, and that’s what counts.
UPDATE – 10:35 AM
Stopped at Whataburger for breakfast. Douglas locked me out of the truck and tried to drive away, so I just smiled and held up all the hoses I pulled out of his engine while he was in the restroom. And then we laughed and laughed.
UPDATE – NOON
Douglas: “Look! A buzzard.”
Me: “Yeah, you’re going to be seeing a lot more of those soon.”
Douglas: “Um, what?”
Me: “Nothing. Look! A buzzard.”
UPDATE – 1:45 PM
Welcome to Flatonia! Come for the Parade of Quilts, but stay for the fried shrimps.
UPDATE – 3:30 PM
Douglas and I are getting along famously and having a wonderful time. This feels like a trap.
UPDATE – 5:00 PM
Somebody brought a flamethrower to this festival. I am not making that up. This whole murder plot just wrote itself.
UPDATE – 10:15 PM
We’re at a truck stop diner somewhere off of I-10, arguing about our waiter’s sexual orientation. It’s been a long day, you guys.
CONCLUSION – MIDNIGHTISH, I THINK?
So we manage to spend 16 hours together without actually trying to murder each other, and then, roughly four blocks from my apartment, Douglas gets all, “Wait, are we going the right way? I don’t think this is the right street. We should turn around. Where are we again?”
In lieu of flowers, Douglas’ family requests that donations be made to the Council of Magickal Arts and the Fellowship of Leather and Kink.