We really outdid ourselves in this chat — it’s like a family dinner that got hijacked by a stand-up open mic. We covered everything: home décor disasters, taxidermy gone wrong, and the art of telling jokes that only half the room understands. We confessed our crimes against interior design, admitted to traumatizing our kids with dad jokes, and tried to explain comedy to ourselves like we were translating a foreign language we barely speak.

At one point, we took a scenic detour into turkey shoots (because nothing bonds friendship like firing at paper poultry), tried to fold our dignity into origami, and then pretended to be film critics who definitely stayed awake through The Godfather. Naturally, we overanalyzed Stephen King’s pen names like we were uncovering a government conspiracy, got sentimental about horror movies, and agreed that the 80s were peak cinema — mostly because that’s when our metabolism still worked.

Somewhere between discussing guilty pleasure films and planning a movie marathon we’ll never actually organize, we realized the common thread holding it all together: our inability to stay on topic. But hey, at least we laughed — mostly at ourselves.