Fit: Alright, thanks again you two, we appreciate it.
Pac: Bye! Bye big daddy!
Fit: [Laughs then sighs] Too much, too much, you're too much Pac, you're too much.
Pac: [Shameless laugh]
Fit: Alright, I can't- you got me flu- I can't even find Ramon's teleport, you got me flustered! Alright, here we go. Alright, see ya! [He and Ramon warp home] Well, that was fun, Ramon. [Reading chat] Oh, it's Valentine's Day in Brazil? I didn't know! Ours is in February.
Ramon: Get a another hussband v:
Fit: Yeah, I'm gonna have to divorce Spreen at this point Ramon, 'cuz, I mean, he's not coming back anytime soon. And he's- he's not even paying child support! He can't even invest in all of your machines, you know? They got to come from somewhere! So... yeah, that's not a bad idea, Ramon. I'll think about it.
Life almost disappears, those summer afternoons spent reading in the park, your head half-leaning on his shoulder. Those mornings in the spring, a little late for work.
It didn't matter then, the way he took two sugars in his coffee. The way you let your hair grow out too long.
But these, the memories we keep, crammed in a shoebox full of polaroids, saved somewhere on a half-forgotten hard drive, they're what remains behind. They're what your sister finds, the weekend that she helps you pack your life.
And then it's sitting on the couch, your kitchen stuff already wrapped in paper. It's styrofoam containers, soda cans. It's wine that she's already drinking from the bottle.
And you can't figure out whose silhouette that was, who showed up to your party with a boa. And she is pretty sure her ex has kids.
But maybe that's why you and I keep postcards. Somebody's bow tie, paperclips, that bit of string.
They don't remind us of some other time, exactly. They're pieces of the people that we were, they're feelings that we'd wanted to hold on to.
i'm begging you not to assume that my silence has to do with you.
it's a lot more likely that i'm going through personal stuff or that i'm busy with with.
and if it did have to do with you, texting me won't help the situation.
i can only handle limited amounts of drama anymore, and you're bringing it along for the ride.
it's a hard no for me.
i want off this ride.
if you attempt to contact me and drag me into it again - after i have explicitly told you to leave me alone and keep me out of it - there will be no more changes. you probably don't even realize that this is your last chance.
i'm just standing on the bridge waiting for a reason to drop this match...
‘Everwood’ Star Treat Williams Dead After Motorcycle Accident
‘Everwood’ Star Treat Williams Dead After Motorcycle Accident
Treat Williams, an actor known for his roles in the TV show “Everwood” and the film version of the musical “Hair,” died Monday after a motorcycle accident. He was 71.
Authorities said Williams was riding his motorcycle in Vermont just before 5 p.m. on Monday before a vehicle attempted to turn into a parking lot in front of him. Williams, who was wearing a helmet, wasn’t able to avoid the car and was thrown from the bike.
“It’s no use,” Whumpee said as their trembling legs gave out. They collapsed next to Caretaker, their body still trembling. “We’re never getting out of here,” they said as tears slipped down their cheeks.
“No. Don’t say that Whumpee. Don’t say that. I’ll get us out of here. I just have to find a way.”
“Even if you do find a way out, I won’t be able to go. I can’t even stay standing, Caretaker.” Whumpee leaned heavily on Caretaker, absolutely spent. Their time with Whumper had left them weak and shaking. And in pain.
“I’ll carry you out of here if I have to, Whumpee We are getting out of here.” Caretaker did not want to witness more of Whumpee’s torture. Did not want to sit there uselessly as Whumper tortured Whumpe. Did not want to sit there and watch and do nothing. “I’ll find us a way out of here. And I’ll carry you.”