1
" Oh, by the way," Coop announces as he weaves his DeathBot ship through a barrage of space debris on his laptop screen. "In case you didn't know. It's national 'That's What She Said' Day."
I give him a thumbs-up. "I like it."
We're camping out in Sean's backyard tonight. It's another one of our traditions. One night, every summer, we buy a ton of junk food and energy drinks and set up Sean's six-person tent in the far corner of his yard.
We've got an extension cord running from the garage so that we can rough it in style, with computers and a TV and DVD player. There's a citronella candle burning in the middle of the tent to ward off mosquitoes and to mask the thick stink of mildew. Everyone's brought sleeping bags and pillows, but we aren't planning on logging too many Zs.
Sean enters the tent carrying his Xbox. "I don't think there are enough sockets for all of these."
I waggle my eyebrows at Coop. "That's what she said."
Coop busts up.
Sean stands there, looking confused. "I don't get it."
"That's what she says," Coop says, sending him and me into hysterics.
Sean sighs and puts the Xbox down. "I can see this is going to be a long night."
"That's what she said," me and Coop howl in chorus.
"Are you guys done yet?"
Coop is practically in tears. "That's what she said."
"Okay. I'll just keep my mouth shut," Sean grumbles.
"That's what she said." I can barely talk I'm laughing so hard.
"Enough. No more. My cheeks hurt," Coop says, rubbing his face.
I point at him. "That's what she said."
And with that, the three of us fall over in fits.
"Oh, man, now look what you made me do."
Coop motions to his computer. "That was my last DeathBot ship."
"That's what she said," Sean blurts out, laughing at his nonsensical joke.
Coop and I stare at him, and then silmultaniously, we hit Sean in the face with our pillows. "
― Don Calame , Swim the Fly (Swim the Fly, #1)
13
" Oh, I don’t know, I’ve got a few Benjamins burning a hole in my pocket.” I pat the breast pocket of my coveralls. “Besides, my dad could sure use one of those washers. His balls are always so dirty. I don’t know how he does it, but every time he golfs, his balls get caked in mud.” I glance over at Helen, her eyes horrified, her mouth a perfect O. The look on her face is priceless — and almost as funny as how clueless Jules seems to be. Jules nods. “That’s what happens when you play on grass and dirt.” “I guess so.” I shake my head. “Still, I don’t think I’ve ever seen balls quite this soiled. Do your balls get that filthy?” “Depends "
― Don Calame , Beat the Band (Swim the Fly, #2)
