we needed staples. can we open the boxes to check if they’re the right size? no. she gets ron. the size on the side of the stapler doesn’t ring a bell for ron. he believes that they do not stock that size. ron should know. ron looks like a man who knows about staples. staples and whisky. well then, we’ll have to just buy a new staple gun ron, we don’t have time for mucking about. he suggests an industrial staple gun, but they don’t stock them. ron is giving advice we can’t take. ron is not helping.

ron says: what you guys ought to do, are you guys on the computers? course you are, is go onto rapid dotcom or comdotau or whatever, and type in model rapid-fire f- 1….. 6… 8 4, they oughta have something there to tell you what staples it takes, that way you make use of your staple gun, it’s not a complete waste. you go on there, and you find out. otherwise you can’t use that gun.

we try to explain to ron that we don’t have time for that. that we stole the staple gun. we don’t care about the staple gun. what we care about is you, ron. stop talking. stop breathing. stop drinking. you’re dying, ron! you’re rotting from the outside in! you need to see a doctor, ron. that white stuff around your nose isn’t normal. i got caught on the wrong side of the officeworks draught of you ron and i couldn’t even listen for the smell of you. it was like the time i forgot that there were used sanitary pads and condoms in my bedroom bin for like a month. it was terrible, ron. it was awful. a man is not a sanitary pad disposal unit! you need to get these things out of you, ron. all your bits have cauliflowered, and they’re fermenting. please, ron, forget the staple guns. save yourself ron. save yourself.

also, there are a few pics…