Sebastian is our sixteen-year-old son and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people.
Sebastian was looking over some oats-over-night flavors that my wife bought him.
Seba: “Strawberry, Boston cream pie, salted toffee, chocolate Satan pie. Whoa. Satan? What the heck? I’m not eating that one. What a dumb name.”
My wife: “Read it again. It’s not ‘Satan’.”
Seba: “‘Chocolate Satan pie’”
My wife: “How is it spelled?”
Seba: “S-a-t-i-n.”
My wife: “Exactly.”
Seba: “Huh?”
My wife (to me): “How do you spell ‘satan’?”
Me: “S-a-t-a-n.”
My wife: “Exactly.”
Me: “You need to read more, Seba.”
the drunken cyclist 