A lunchtime conversation between myself and my work buddy:
Her: Hmmm. Have you heard about Oprah? She's depressed.
Me: And why would that be?
Her: Well. You know, she's almost 200 pounds now.
Me: So what's the deal with that? The woman has a personal chef, does she not?
Her: Well sure. But she's probably like, "I want macaroni and cheese, NOW!"
Her: Plus her dog died. In an accident.
Her: Choked on a ball. It was the wrong kind of ball, apparently.
Me: That sucks. So she's depressed about the dog?
Her: Well I don't know. Can you imagine though? I bet her dog walker was, like, banished to an island somewhere. People are probably like, "Ooh, didn't Oprah fire you?"
Me: Hahaha... Yeah. She probably had him killed.
Her: Yeah. He's probably buried in the backyard.
Me: Yeah. And no one cares because she paid them off.
Me: So why is she 200 pounds? Doesn't she have a personal trainer?
Her: Yeah, but she probably fired them. "Fuck you, I'm not working out!"
Me: Dude. She so has no excuse. I mean, I have no excuse, but she really has no excuse.
Her: Seriously. She probably has a whole gym and a pool and everything. The trainer probably comes to her house.
Me: Totally. If I were Oprah, I'd be working out every day. I mean, you're on TV like every day.
Me: And personal chefs can make healthy food that tastes good. If I were Oprah, I'd just have him make me some healthy shit that tastes good.
Her: Mmmhmmm. If I were Oprah, I'd have a Starbucks barista in my house.
Me: Sure, why not? Dude there's nowhere to park.
Her: Just park right there.
Me: You can't park there.
Her: Sure you can. Just act like you own the place. I'll tell them we're with the management.
Me: All right.
Her: Stop turning red.
Her: Grande decaf soy vanilla latte please!