“Yep, dude, it sure is.”
“What is, dude?”
“Communication.”
“What?”
“Communication!”
“You don’t have to yell, dude. Especially about that. It’s so, like, last century.”
“Last century?”
“Yeah, dude. Nobody does this commune stuff anymore, not unless they hafta.”
“Dude …”
“We had about twenty of us in an apartment one time, ’cause we were all broke. We sure had a commune-y nation in that place. Especially when the toilet plugged and they hadta shut off the water for four days. No showers or nothin’. Pee-yew. And people used to want to do this kind of thing deliberately?”
“Dude …”
“Well, did they?”
“Dude, what we have here is a failure to communicate.”
“What, you can’t text me? You lose your cell phone or somethin’?”
No, dudes, that ain’t it.
“[gasp] OC!!”
What we have here is a failure to X-communicate. You should be grateful.
“You don’t mean X as in command-X, um, do you, OC?”
“Control-X, du … oops …”
Ah, you two…
Always put a smile on my face!
“Dude!”
“What?”
“Have you been playin’ with the greasepaint again?”
“Why not, dude? How come smileys only gotta be on blogs and stuff? You oughta try it sometime. Let a smile be your umbrella.”
“But then when it rains I’ll get wet, dude!”
“That’s how come we use greasepaint, dude!”
A failure to excommunicate. That’s a common one.
Ah yes, Dawg. The American way. Forgive and remember.
the dudes are silly. and funny. is that not reason enough to let them stay?
“Hey, dude, I like the way she thinks. Y’reckon that’d work at the Hilton?”
“That and 200 bucks a night, dude.”
Oh, those dudes! Communicate my amusement to them.
I’ll try, Linda, but no guarantees. Maybe if I text them …
Oh, they are just such sillies.
They are, Nessa? We’re rich! We’re … no, wait, that currency’s been discontinued. Dang.