over lunch

A hefty discussion with Ken. A talk on history of some sorts. A series of theories, absurd. I laughed. Ken laughed. We thought it funny. Hysterical, even. But behind them, lurking in the shadows like the hyenas in your backyard, is a silly little hope. For an illumination.  

Theory 1.   You own a zoo. 

Theory 2.   Your dad owns a shipping company (like Ken’s does).

Theory 3.   You own a train.

Theory 4.   You’re a son of a bitch (YOUUUSONUVABITCH like Lily would say).

Theory 5.   You come from a family of politicians.

Theory 6.   Your dad is a drug lord.

There's more. But Ken thinks I'd rather not say. A crack at preventing myself from exposing my heart. Yes may ganung dramathon. After which, I was forced into adding that the reasons behind these theories will be concealed until further notice (or development).