God, I’m a Sick, Sick Man

For those that read my warped crap on any regular basis, questions as to my sanity (or lack thereof) may have already been answered. Given the following e-mail exchange this morning between me, my beautiful partner, and another couple, all doubts or remaining questions may be definitively put to rest:

From Joe (pseudonym)
To: Phil, Angie, Natalie (pseudonym)
Subj: Indian for Lunch

Indian anyone?

From: Phil
To: all

Joe, I thought you were a vegetarian. You can’t be eating Indians for lunch! Sorry, I’m a little punchy from lack of sleep. What time?

From Joe:
To: all

Anytime after 11:30.
What did you do last night?

From Phil:
To: all

Chased Angie around the house in my shark outfit while she pelted me with water balloons.

From Joe:
To: all

If the balloons would have been filled with butterscotch pudding, you would have just described my fetish fantasy. Can I borrow the shark outfit?

From Phil:
To: all

Certainly, as soon as I get it back from the cleaners. Has a few mustard stains. Won’t bore you with that story.

From: Angie
To: all

You guys have fun, I can’t make it. Have tight deadlines and an exhaustive day ahead.

From Phil
To: all

Shame. Guess that also means you’ll be too tired to play on the trapeze tonight.

From: Natalie
To: all

Y’all are sick. I can’t do lunch either.

From: Phil
To: all

I’m still in (if no cannabalism involved).

From: Joe
To: all

Me too, I want to hear the mustard story. Meet you at noon.