The parched earth drank up the rain. The farmer inhaled the damp earth and wept. I just peed my pants, he yelled. His wife rediscovered god.

We sipped water off our bodies and told bad jokes and laughed in museums. We acknowledged our love and made promises. And then we got bored.

He used every word in his massive lexicon to describe the wine. And then he waited, anticipating her reaction. I’m more into beer, she said.

The weatherman forecasts sunny weather and I high five my wife and she says, I don’t know, and I reply, I don’t know you, but not ironically.