Today is Monday but it’s also a holiday, said the one.

Indeed, said the other.

How do you feel about that, asked the one.

Eh, I’m noncommittal, replied the one. Sunday becomes Saturday, Monday becomes Sunday, it never ends.

But…are we supposed to hate Monday holidays? pleaded the one.

The other frowned. I don’t think so.

It’s also September now, noted the one.

Yes, replied the other.

The blobs have returned to their indoctrination centers, reported the one.

Ah, yes. I see them in the mornings now, replied the other.

Other, whispered the one.

Yes?

Are you afraid of dying?

No, stated the other.

Why not? cried the one.

Because I like sleeping, replied the one.

The one frowned. But you don’t wake up from death!

That’s fine, said the other. It’s like…ultimate sleep, you know? Sleep deluxe.

I guess, said the one. Do you mean…every time we go to sleep, it’s like a little visit from death?

Exactly, replied the other.

Oh, good. I was afraid death would be more like Sundays, said the one.

How so? asked the other.

Well, you know what Sundays are like, said the one. I even wrote a bad poem about it once! No one wanted to publish it.

Morrissey wrote a song about that, said the other.

Everyday is like Sunday! screamed the one.

Everyday is silent and grey! shouted the other.

The one frowned. But it’s not Sunday.

I know, replied the other. But remember how today is a holiday so actually today is Sunday, for all intents and purposes.

O, right! said the one.

Here, have some chocolate chips, said the other. Chocolate improves mood.

CHOCOLATE! screamed the one, inhaling chips like a vacuum.

Okay, I think you’ve had enough, said the other.

In your face, Sundays AND Mondays! shouted the one with glee.

Gimme those chips back, you fiend! yelled the other.

Not ’til Tuesday! yelled the one.

Fair enough, said the other. But I’ll be expecting cookies later…

More of The One and the Other.