(Don’t even ask what started this conversation…our texts have a narrative thread that falls somewhere between mescaline overdose and fever-dream.)
Ryan: How would you like a Trump-Cruz ticket.?
Me: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of me dying.
Ryan: That’s something you could put on Pay-Per-View.
(A second later…)
Ryan: To be clear…Trump-Cruz, not your dying.
Me: Thanks for clarifying, sweetie. Wait, are you saying my death isn’t good enough for Pay-Per-View?
Ryan: Yeah…I don’t think I can win here, so I’m just going to tell you you’re pretty and hope for the best.