Kenneth
Raymond: Kenneth was a strange guy. I'm not certain of the circumstances under which we met, outside of that it was at Dunwoody High. I'm thinking Driver's Ed, though. Anyway, Kenneth was at heart a nice guy, and I'm sure he really meant well, but he just had this uncanny knack of walking up at random and talking to me about who the world's best guitarist was. At first glance, this might seem like an interesting topic, but BEWARE reader! You have just fallen victim to Kenneth's trap! Thinking and reasoning are useless beyond this point in the conversation, because the right answer is Prince. Why? Because that's who Kenneth thinks the world's best guitarist is. "What proof does he have to support his claim," you ask? Because his guitar solos are good. "But wait, isn't 'good' ridiculously subjective?" Yes. "Will Kenneth ever in his lifetime change his mind." No. No, he will not. Ever. Even though this became a little annoying after the 8,314,792nd time, being the nice guy I am, I somehow managed to put up with Kenneth's Prince-biased inquiries. Responding to his questions with a terse "go away" subtlety had no effect on Kenneth. It was as if he was sent by Milton Bradley/The Writers themselves to have a little fun at my expense. Without fail, Kenneth would somehow manage to appear out of NOWHERE, right as I was having an interesting conversation with someone else. Here's a typical example of a "Kenneth conversation" (Anthony can vouch for me!): RAYMOND: So, Anthony, is cheese really a mold or not?
Throughout the conversation, Anthony would be standing behind Kenneth and smiling, just relishing the awkwardness of the situation, I'm sure.. Before long, I had a pretty decent Kenneth impression down pat, which became another source of amusement on our bus ride.
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