Thankfully, his dozen or so posts about Star Wars gives us two things in common: our mutual love of Rogue: One and our mutual hatred for The Last Jedi.
Unfortunately, we vary in what we consider the best droid companion.
There’s a picture of Toxic with a remote control in hand, powering a small BB-8 robot with the caption, ‘Hands down the best droid to roll onto a Star Wars set.’
This is what happens when you don’t properly vet your hookups.
I crack my knuckles, which is ironic because my message only requires the movement of my thumbs, and get to typing.
SEND.
TWO
Toxic
PlayerA’s mouth is a thin line, whereas Player B wears a perpetual smirk.
“Fold,” Player C says, throwing his cards down on the table.
“Tox!” Vanessa shouts, rushing in my direction.
I hit pause on the video and give her my attention. “What’s up, boss?”
“I’m not your boss.”
“Bullshit. I’ve seen Carl answering to you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Look, this is super important.”
“Lay it on me.”
“Is pineapple an acceptable pizza topping?”
I blink at her. “Huh?”
“Is pineapple?—”
“I heard you, I just don’t understand why you’re asking.”
“Because Natasha and I have a bet going.”
Natasha comes up behind her. “Don’t you dare influence him!”
“I’m not,” Vanessa huffs.
They both turn to me. “Well?”
“It’s all in the tastebuds of the pizza eater,” I reply.
Vanessa scowls. “Well, it’s not a yes.”
Natasha smirks. “It’s way closer to yes than no, and now I’m in the lead.”
“Well, there are still four more Hunks to go, and anything can happen,” Vanessa sneers.
As they walk away, I turn my phone back on and notice a message on my Chatter account.
Typically, I get three or four a week from adoring fans. I dread opening them, because they’re so nice and complimentary, and I’ve done nothing to earn their adoration.
