Dylan moved his music studio to the bedroom upstairs. This required much back-and-forth effort and action and a lot of running around. He maneuvered many electronic boxes with buttons, monitors, keyboards, wires, tools, big jointed metal rods, and heavy extension arms. Several times Dylan called for Connor’s assistance, I overheard them figuring and communicating in the next room. “Now hold still, then shove your shit down hard onto my shaft,” Dylan instructed. There was the most pregnant pause. “Never say that to me again,” Connor said. I stifled a giggle while the awkward heavy figuring happened. “Woohoo, my shaft is mounted!” Dylan whooped. Connor maintained a rigid silence. My giggle transcended the stifle. Bromances. Shit. If only girls could have such fun. Maybe we do, though much more discreetly. And but there’s simply more inherent comedy already built into a penis, for better or worse, I guess that’s just the way God made us. More probable proof that God is in fact a man, because I have a hard time picturing a woman coming up with this stuff.