The Right Kind of Wrong Page #3

My bear.

The product of a rare recessive gene,

2,000 miles from their only habitat.

Beautiful things that seem

impossible happen every day.

Heads up!

Good to have you back, man!

Julie never understood

why I don't hate my job.

Dish washing gives results

that are immediate.

Lacking in longer-term pursuits,

like writing a novel, or pursuing a woman.

Oh, my God!

Oh, my God!

Oh, sweetheart, thank you.

I know I said it didn't matter...

and it mattered so much to your mom...

but I did kind of hate the roses.

- These aren't from me.

- What?

"I hate it when we are apart.

Leo Palamino."

Is he out of his f***ing mind!?

You are out of your f***ing mind!

I love that she doesn't like roses.

- They're the attorneys of the flower world, don't you think?

- Hey.

Neil's irritable because I won't let

him see my paintings for my new show.

No, babe, I'm irritable

because my best friend's

an idiot, and I just

put sunglasses on a marmot.

Oh...

Neil's Big Horn Books published my book.

The, colossal failure of which meant

he had to make money fast.

And so was born the Big Horn Honker,

a mix of local news and

heartwarming wildlife trivia.

But mostly a way for local bars

to advertise drink specials.

- Show him, Neil.

- No, Jill. Don't encourage it.

You think he's not gonna find her?

Okay.

Here you go. She runs

that weird tour company.

I've heard these are actually cool.

Oh! Well, it actually doesn't matter,

'cause she's actually married.

Married-married. So, you know,

it hasn't worn off yet.

Leo, punch that man in the throat.

I think he ate my husband.

- Dude.

- Oh!

Thanks to a congenital defect,

she has three of those.

Jill and Neil are

obsessed with taking disgusting

way too intimate pictures of

each other with their phones.

Hey, man, lock up.

I have to violate my wife.

- Where are you gonna go? In here?

- No.

To be their friend

is to be party to a lot of

alarming foreplay

for sex you'll never have.

They make me believe in love.

Your wife wrote that blog, right?

There were benefits to my notoriety.

You're a major pop culture reference.

My friends back home

won't believe I met you.

A notoriety aided by

dollar-a-shot Wednesdays.

Of which I am king.

My My friend won't believe I met you.

Mmhmm. Your friend back home?

No. My friend over there.

You're aces at that, mate.

Okay. Gotta pee.

I get wicked bladder infections.

Yes, there are worse ways

to mourn the loss of a relationship.

But sex with strangers,

even leggy, weirdly vocal ones

with a blas attitude,

is an alienating excuse for love.

Especially when you know

it's possible again.

Where are we?

I told mom and dad we'd pick

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