Chuck Norris listens too!

I received a text from my brother Ryan last week while browsing through the comic stacks at the local Barnes & Noble.  A few blocks down the road, Kevin was training for football season at his high school; the heat index that day had risen well above a hundred, adding another complaint to his daily list of grievances: stupid weather inserting itself between annoying little sisters and stupid women who drive foreign automobiles.  Anticipating a long drive home, I had decided to slip inside the bookstore for an iced tea and a scone when my phone rang.  The following conversation resulted:

Ryan: “Murph!  Listen to Bolero by Ravel! The essence of awesomeness! Listen to it loud!”

Me:  “Okay, I’ll see if I can find it at home.  My phone doesn’t seem to see it.  Try Requiem for a Tower.  It’s like peering at God’s personal playlist.”

Ryan: “I’ve heard it! Bolero is like it was written by Apollo, the Greek god of music, himself!  . . . . It’s like he came down from Mt. Olympus, made love, and bore a song!”

Me: “Oh yeah?  Well, the sheet music for Requiem is made from the shadows of an angel’s choir as they cry out in ecstasy.”

Ryan: “Haha! That brought me to tears!”

Me: “ ‘Cause you know it’s true!”

Ryan: “The violins used in Bolero are made from the strands of Pegasus’ hair.  The baton used to orchestrate the song was actually developed using one of Zeus’ lightning bolts. . . .”

Me:“The music of the spheres, the divine symphony that sets the universe in motion, is actually Requiem in enedless repeat.  If you play the piece outside on a summer night, the stars actually twinkle in step to the mystical chords.”

Ryan: “Bolero has been known to cure cancer.”

Me: “Ha . . . only Chuck Norris’ tears can cure cancer, and he only cries while listening to Requiem!”

Ryan: “When God sent manna from Heaven, what he really sent were large blocks of obsidian that emit Bolero when turned upside down.”

Me: “Upside down?”

Ryan: “Yeah, like those mooing cans.  You shake ’em up and they . . . moo, you know?”

Me: “Okay, well did you read the paper today?  Texas just recently allowed Requiem as a form of capital punishment.  Prisoners who listen to it more than once a day spontaneously combust into a mixture of fire, space dust and pints of Guiness, which everyone knows is liquid heaven.”

Ryan: “Amen to that.  They have a river like that on Mt. Olympus, a dark stream of delicious ale and crispy pretzels, which the Heavens named . . . Bolero.”

Me: “Figures.  Did you know that Kevin will drive a Toyota if Requiem is on the radio?”

Ryan: “Ooooo, nice . . . . Well, Emma Watson only offers sex when this song is playing.”

Me: “Haha!”

Ryan: “It’s true!  The clothes just fly right off . . .”

Me:“Emma Watson was conceived to Requiem.  Thus, we better understand how angels are born.”

Ryan: “The sole purpose behind the creation of Batman was to embody the spirit and soul of Bolero into a single solitary heroic entity.  Tragically they have not come even close yet.”

Me: “The sole purpose of Bolero was to imitate the haunting melody of Requiem.  Sadly it did not come close.”

Ryan: “And now the belittling begins . . .  I think I offended you there with that Batman comment, touched a nerve  or two.”

Me:  “Batman is all about the Requiem.”

Ryan: “Anyway, you know that isn’t true since Bolero came way before Requiem. Like a whole century or two before. :-P”

Me: “Sure, and realism is truly the focus here, Apollo?”

Ryan: “Of course it is!  Did you know that the Founding Fathers listened to Bolero when penning the Constitution.  It also roused their spirits against tyranny, bigotry and communism.  Damn those music-hating commies!  Life, liberty, and pursuit of Bolero, ya red bastards!”

Me:“Requiem is actually the fuel that allows time travel, not the flux capacitor.”

Ryan: HAHA

Me: “The bomb that destroyed the Death Star was a concoction of Wookie urine, a lock of Han’s chest hair, and concentrated Requiem.”

Ryan: “Haha!  Anti-gravitational force that allowed E.T. to fly was made possible by Bolero.”

Me: “And wire-harnesses.  Well, Mark Wahlberg learned to play Requiem, not to make fun of the fairy douchebags in his neighborhood but ’cause he just really likes it.”

Ryan: “Nice, but Ricky Bobby pisses Bolero.”

Me: “Piss by any other name is still piss, dude.  Jack Nicholson can handle the truth, but he can’t handle Requiem.  None of us can!”

Ryan: “Requiem is like cheap beer.  Bolero is a fine port made from the sinews of crushed Care Bears.”

Me: “Ugh . . . The Japanese women soccer team listened to Requiem last Sunday.”

Ryan: “Oooo . . .too soon, man.  Way, too soon.”

Me: “Bill f^&*ing Murrey can’t party or bust ghosts without his daily dose of Requiem.”

Ryan: “42 is the ultimate answer to life the universe and everything.  The ultimate question is “On a scale of one to ten, how awesome is Bolero?”

Me: “Quoting Hitchhiker’s Guide?  You opened the Gates of Literary Hell, bud.  On page 6785-A378 of the Guide, it states:  “All interstellar travelers are recommended to carry at all times on their person 1 towel, 1 babelfish, 1 electronic thumb, and 1 copy of Requiem for a Tower.  If you ever find yourself trapped in the vacuum of space moments from implosion, chewed upon by a band of ravenous space eels, or sitting through Vogon poetry recital, the intensity of Requiem will anesthetize all brain function before your impending and inevitable death.”

Ryan: “Wow.  That rebuttal was almost way too geeky for me, man.”

Me: “You did it to yourself, dude, when you opened that box.”

Ryan: “Yeah . . . yeah, guess I did.  Wow.  Take your Requiem.  If the music messes with your brain like that, I’ll concede victory.  You need it more than I do.”

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