See, this t-shirt came in the mail, so I created an explaination in Any Flash, any time, self prompt

“So, um, you want a big lebowski t-shirt?”

“I don’t know, that’s a pretty intimate question.”

“I suppose, but do ya?”

“Why doncha just fuck me?”

“Oh, ok, that’s even better, but I still have this t-shirt …”

“I was kidding, sort of, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing.”

“How come you don’t want it?”

“I do, I just, you know, kind of like you and , um, you know …”

“You’re funny.”

“Thanks. It says ‘The Dude Abides’ and it’s maroon, and it’s got this like silk screen of Jeff Bridges on it …”

“You know I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing that fifteen years ago.”

“Huh. I’ve never thought of what I want to be dead wearing. I really haven’t gone so far as to narrow down the list by what I ---“

“Shut up, I was kidding.”

“You shut up, I know, but it’s morbid elitism.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it fifteen years ago because fifteen years ago it was a box office smash, now it’s kind of cult cool in the sort of dog years of pop culture.”

“Just an expression.”

“Yeah, but that’s where you were going with it right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Right?”

“Ok, so fuck me. And yes. I want the damn shirt. I would have wanted it then too, I just wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing it.”

“Well, 20/20 hindsight, I mean you’d feel pretty foolish saying that if you had died fifteen years ago.”

“Not as foolish as you flirting with my corpse.”

“So, go back to my place, satisfy my simple little agenda and your complex one?”

“Oh, my agenda is simple too, but it’s going to take more than one. How many t-shirts you got?”

“Whore.”

“Hmmm, which should I be more offended by, Whore? Or Morbid elitist?”

“They’re both compliments and I really just meant slut and regular elitist.”

“Sweet talker.”

“The Dude Abides.”