“You cannot post about that!”
Says David.
“But it’s so good. It’s a great bit.”
“I am not a great bit,” he says determinedly.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“I am serious. I don’t feel comfortable with you leading a post with that.”
I pout. “You’re taking away my comedy.”
“No, I’m taking away MY comedy. I don’t want people reading it and saying ‘Hey David, nice about your (redacted words),’ when I see them on the street.”
“Even if it’s for a really good cause?”
“What, this is going to help stamp out Islamaphobia? It’ll cure cancer?”
“You never know. Laughter is very freeing.”
“I don’t feel comfortable.”
“Can’t I just mention the (redacted words)?”
“No you may not.”
“What about the (redacted words)?”
“No.”
“(redacted words) (more redacted words) (Still more redacted words, with extra fancy redacted phrasology)??”
“Un-unh.”
“But it’s so freaking charming.”
“I don’t care. That is just between you and me…”
” ‘I came here for a party and what do I get? Nothing. Not even ice cream.’ ” I say in my best Groucho Marx.
“Too bad for you.”
“Spoilsport.”