Well - I had coffee "with" a hologram - and Sam is so pale and pasty-faced that it's more like a hollowgram.
Slammin' Sam was in his super-secret underground lair beneath Independence Hall. His lips were really red, he's drinking blood again. I told him to stop frontin' with the coffee cup and go back to the good ol' goblet [bro].
He said he'd be happy to but he's under a lot of [factin'] scrutiny at the factin' moment, no factin' joke [yo].
A handsome, well dressed in a follow-the-leader-come-what-may way, vegan goat boy with room mates waiter channeled Ayn Rand and informed me that a flat white coffee was as close to an instant coffee as you could get once you choose to leave the comforts of home. He said comforts with this fey little dime-sized semi-sneer.
Dr. H wasn't happy that I used voodoo to make Tony "Don't Throw The Rock Into" RowTen tweet that he was "do" to return on the 11th. I told him it's not my fault. There has been a distinct dearth of details re: "our" D-Leagued PG DUO [dude], someone had to get someone to say something [yo].
He said that he thought that my previous failed attempt to use voodoo to get the Antipodean Medico to submit to a surprise doorstop interview was particularly backstabberlicious.
I told him he was right. I said that the Antipodean has the Deep Dodo Data, and do not disturb is the Dummies Order Of The Day yo.
We're [hollowgram] friends, Slammin' Sam and I. He couldn't help but laugh a little at my predicament.
He smiled and shook his moon-sized-shaped-and-colored head back and forth as if to say "no, no, no you're not", as he chuckled out, "Sho' you right Voodoo, sho' you right my vinnie del!"
When he calmed down a little he slipped off his left gator loafer and showed me his new tattoo of Big 'Biid's foot on his milky little foot - then he suddenly just disappeared in a puff of smoke that smelled electrical before I could ask him about Richaun.
