As phatic's 14th birthday was coming up (September this year), B Suit -- acknowledging his young friend's suboptimal mood -- he (Suit) sat him (phatic) down at the Limit Bar & Grill, 255 Florida Ave., Fla, The United States of America.
"What seems to be on your mind, my friend. You seem dejected and emasculative."
"Well," said phatic, "I know it's soon phatic's [he would at time refer to hisself in the third person singular or plural (or both)] birthday, and all..."
"Yes," Suit's interjected, "yous were born 14 yers ago, with the inception of the Canon Factory (later closed), and at the mercy of the powers that may be (or not) emigrated through the desert of Nile (in supplement to the high seas) to the blogosphere..."
"In deed," phatic continued, "you speak the truth, parrhesiastically, nd for that you should be referenced."
Suit sipped his spirits.
"However, you encuired aboud the cause and conditions of our dejection?"
"That is correct."
"The fact [although there really are no bare facts] is that is has to do with my father and father."
"Yes?" B Suit raised his eyebrows.
"Their not on speaking tearms."
"Not strictly speaking," phatic said. "As they don't converse an argument is constitutively excluded."
"Very true," Suit said, somewhat on the thither side of his assigned rôle in thishere story.
"...which raises a Lacanian problematic," phatic concluded.
"Don't conclude just yet," Suit introjected meta-phiolosphically. "Which side of Lacan refers to you?"
"Is phatic [here he was referring to hisself again] exposed to a split in the Big Other ... or not? In ther words, or lack of such, is there an expression of desire or just Bad Mood?"
The friends fell silent briefly. The Suit finished his drink, got up and said,
"You should maximin their mood, I suppose. Let's go to the Bank. I've got a deposit to make."
And with that the two interlocutors left the Limit Bar & Grill.
A. Woodland (fiancé)
On behalf of the phatic editorium