Adventures in subtlety.

Yesterday, after the puppet show, Brad and I were sitting at Larry's condo alone and having coffee.

RM: Hey, take off your shirt.
BF: No.
RM: Please take off your shirt.
BF: No, I'm celibate. You know that.
RM: Yeah, and I can help with that. And I didn't say we'd do anything. Just take off your shirt.
BF: No.

Fifteen minutes later.

RM: Hey, take off your shirt.
BF: No. What are you, Larry Flynt?
RM: If I were Larry Flynt, I wouldn't want you to take your shirt off.
BF: Well then, what are you, Chi Chi LaRue?
RM: No. And, if I were Chi Chi LaRue, I don't think I'd want you to take off your shirt either. You're 35.

Five minutes later.

RM: Brad, that puppet show taught me something. I have an existential hole in my being that I need to fill. Can you help me?
BF: No.

Twenty minutes later.

RM: I'm sorry about the flirting.
BF: You're good at flirting. You always manage to throw an insult in there in the middle of all the compliments.
RM: When did I insult you? I didn't insult you.
BF: Never mind.