The boy tugged playfully at the girl’s plaid pleated skirt as they were making out. A TV show of some sort was playing in the background, but neither person paid it much mind, or any at all, really. They were both engrossed in the taste of each other’s tongues. 

I’m sure you’re the kind of person who likes culture. Maybe you own shirts with buttons. I don’t know. Maybe you’ve read a book without pictures for some reason. Maybe you use a napkin when you eat. I’ll tell you openly and honestly, because I’m that kind of person, that I was a little bit behind in the culture department. It’s not that I don’t admire culture. I’ve learned to recognize it whenever it comes on TV, except sometimes I change the channel by accident. So I admire culture, as I said, and one day I sat on the couch and thought about what it would be like to be cultured myself. I started to imagine myself as somebody who might use a napkin, but I fell asleep and spilled my potato chips.

“Whatever you do, don’t fall in love with Jason.”

You gape at the twin of yourself who purposely rode into you with her electric Divvy bike. Except it’s not a twin at all. You don’t even have a twin, not that you know of. This not-twin who looks exactly like you is wearing your ripped jeans, your yellow sweater with the broken zipper, and your scruffy checkered Vans you bought back when you thought you were a skater.

Okay, so there’s a flood. A man is caught in it, and he climbs up onto the roof of his house in order to escape the water. As he’s sitting there, another man comes by in a raft.

“Jump in!” the man says. “We can row to safety!”

The man on the roof says, “No, leave me. I have faith that God will save me.”

So the man in the raft paddles away.

I was up to talk to my doctor about Rybelto. I wanted to know what Rybelto did. The guy on the commercial held a bowling ball. Maybe Rybelto improved hand-eye coordination. I wanted better hand-eye coordination so I ate the $50 copay and went to see my doctor. He told me Rybelto wasn’t right for me.