“I don’t think we should do this,” Harold stopped himself from biting his peeling lip. It felt like some of the hanging bits of skin were his oldest companions, these days.
Samuel sighed. “It’s not that big of a deal, they do it on the internet.”
“So that means it’s okay? Did we imitate every act on the Johnny Carson show? No. Why is the internet any different?”
“Oh, the internet is very different. It has images of beautiful beaches from all over the world, lots of panda videos and even the occasional young lass in very revealing clothing. Let me tell you about this one website I found-”
“I’m aware of the internet,” Harold said through a groan. He braced his hands on his knees, groaning again as he lifted from his seat. “I merely disagree that we should do this to Max.”
Samuel kicked the bucket of ice. “But it’s for Lou Gehrig’s disease!”
“Max doesn’t even have that disease.”
“He has something; can you smell him through that vented windbreaker?”
“Cause you smell like freshly cut roses,” Harold chastised.
“Oh come on,” Samuel whined, almost sounding like his five year old grandson. “We already brought the ice down here.”
Harold looked from the bucket of ice to their nearby friend. He remembered the last time Max stole the pot of poker winnings from right under his nose. That sealed the deal.
“All right,” Harold relented. “Let’s do this.”