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August 4, 2009
We're standing outside a pub in North Binswick called The Chirping Guppy. Cattycorner, a few dusty, mossy cobblestone stumbles away, is The Galloping Snake. Greg is almost literally scratching his grizzly jaw, above which an actual enormous black question mark hangs even more ominously than the thick thunder clouds rolling in from just beyond the end of this already darkened road.

"But a guppy can't chirp," he says.

"Duh," I say.

"And a snake? How can a snake gallop?"

"Um," I say.

Like I expected more from a guy who doesn't even get "Orange you glad I didn't say 'knock-knock'?"