"Hey do you want a bite of my apple?"

"I'm allergic to them."

"Are you really?"

"Yes. If I ate one, my face would get puffy. And my eyes would roll back in my head."

"Oh my gosh."

"And my nervous system would shut down, and my windpipe would snap shut, and my sphincter would go berserk."

"Ew, gross."

"And my small, undeveloped balls would disintigrate."


"And my bowels would release and my hands would swell up like cartoons. So, no... I don't want a bite of your stinkin' apple."


"So that's pretty weird. The apple thing.... I didn't know that about you."

"I don't advertise it."

"What about apple sauce?"


"Apple pie?"




"Christina Applegate?"


"Jared Fogel?"


"Shmared Shmogel?"


"Shmar shmar?"

"It must be nice not being allergic to shmar shmar."

"But shmar shmar is not a real thing. I made it up to see if you were lying."

"Shmar shmar is definitely real. Look it up in the dictionary. It's a byproduct of apple-flavored marzipan. Look it up if you don't believe me."

"No I believe you."

"It must be nice being able to eat shmar shmar whenever you want. You don't realize how good you have it, buster."

"Look I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as I am."

"Can we just talk about something else?"

"Yeah let's ignore the crushing fact that eating shmar shmar would make my nipples fall off and my first born child would automatically be born with Patrick Swayze Disease."

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