Consider the following conversation, which occurred at my house this past Sunday afternoon:

Amy: What's this?

Zach: The Souvenirs. It's country.

Amy: It's weird. Why do we have to listen to it?

Zach: Pitchfork. It'll be over soon.

Amy: It's weird. How soon?

Zach: Not soon enough. So what do you want to do tonight?

Amy: Well, we could, um... could we turn this off? It's fucking with my desires.

Zach: I should really listen to the whole thing before I review it.

Amy: Why? Here, I'll tell you about it: once upon a time, four or five guys got to talking at a bar. They were all living someplace southern at the time, Tennessee or Texas or whatever, but they were probably originally from somewhere else...

Zach: Canada?

Amy: Probably-- someplace they'd have to keep a secret.

Zach: Well, the bio said they were from Seattle.

Amy: Good enough. So they got to talking and lamenting the premature death of country music and whatnot, and they decided to-- quote, unquote-- "take up the, well... the cause if you will-- y'know, like how U2 did?" So they went and bought some shirts with the yokes. They probably called some hippie friend. Then, they gave the hippie guy a shirt. Okay, I'm going to turn it off now.

Zach: Um, okay.

Amy: Where were these guys when they handed out the irony? I mean, 'cause they're okay, but they're not good enough not to need the irony.

Zach: Seriously.

Amy: Do you want some Fig Newtons?

Zach: Sure. Thanks.

-Zach Hooker