Scampi: Do you think of yourself as the Executive Officer of this boat?


Peter: No. What boat?


Scampi: Very interesting.


Peter: To which boat are you referring?


Scampi: Stop being coy.




Scampi: Perhaps if you climbed up the mast, we could see where we were going.


Peter: Excuse me?


Scampi: You know, like a lookout. From the crow’s nest.


Peter: That is hardly necessary.


Scampi: That’s what you say now.


Peter: Yes. It is.


Scampi: There’s no need to be so terse with me.


Peter: Oh?


Scampi: That’s right. No need whatsoever.




Scampi: Look at the sun on the water!


Peter: Ah.


Scampi: The coruscating wavelets!


Peter: Are you quite well?


Scampi: Of course I am.


Peter: I see.


Scampi: The brighter the sun gets, the fluffier the clouds.


Peter: Although I by no means give credence to the relationship inferred, I will agree that the sun is bright and the clouds are fluffy.


Scampi: Orotund.


Peter: Are you speaking about me?


Scampi: Of course not. Absurd!


Peter: Oh.


Scampi: The green trees are waving in a summer breeze. I could almost capitulate.


Peter: Figuratively?


Scampi: No, to the ice cream vendor.


Peter: Is the ice cream truck here?


Scampi: No.


Peter: Oh.


Scampi: If he were, you would have heard the song.


Peter: Is that a song?


Scampi: It’s a tune, anyway. On top of his van.


Peter: I know it well.


Scampi: Of course you do.   [SINGS] And when I die, there’ll be one child born…


Peter: I declare it a beautiful day for a stroll.


Scampi: I concur.




Scampi: You know what the sun reminds me of?


Peter: What?


Scampi: A giant black pit.


Peter: Black holes? Are you talking about space?


Scampi: No. I am saying that this brightness reminds me of the darkness.


Peter: That is the contrarian way.


Scampi: It is not!




Peter: Are you all right?


Scampi: No, I am all wrong.


Peter: What was that?


Scampi: It was my attempt at a cartwheel.


Peter: Ah.


Scampi: “Are you all right?” Blah blah.


Peter: Please do not mimic me in this fashion. It is highly distasteful.


Scampi: Such a connoisseur, that’s our Peter.


Peter: I belong to no one.


Scampi: Don’t be so sure.


Peter: It looked more like you were attempting to give yourself a concussion. Or at any rate, a contusion.


Scampi: The latter object may have been a success, after all.


Peter: Are you bleeding?


Scampi: None of your beeswax.


Peter: This is very disquieting.


Scampi: What is?


Peter: I simply wished to go for a stroll.


Scampi: So? What else is new?


Peter: It was not an attempt at novelty.


Scampi: One of us has to step up to the plate on that score.


Peter: To what end?


Scampi: I can’t think.


Peter: Why is that?


Scampi: Who are you, Sigmund Freud?


Peter: No. I am Carl Jung.


Scampi: I can’t think any more today.


Peter: Might I aver that I would never refer to myself as Carl Jung?


Scampi: No.


Peter: It has grown rather noisy.


Scampi: Let’s run away.


Peter: I prefer to walk.


Scampi: Don’t I know it.


Peter: Are you limping?


Scampi: No.


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