"But it's so good. It's a great bit."
"I am not a great bit," he says determinedly.
I raise my eyebrows at him.
"I am serious. I don't feel comfortable with you leading a post with that."
I pout. "You're taking away my comedy."
"No, I'm taking away MY comedy. I don't want people reading it and saying 'Hey David, nice about your (redacted words),' when I see them on the street."
"Even if it's for a really good cause?"
"What, this is going to help stamp out Islamaphobia? It'll cure cancer?"
"You never know. Laughter is very freeing."
"I don't feel comfortable."
"Can't I just mention the (redacted words)?"
"No you may not."
"What about the (redacted words)?"
"(redacted words) (more redacted words) (Still more redacted words, with extra fancy redacted phrasology)??"
"But it's so freaking charming."
"I don't care. That is just between you and me..."
" 'I came here for a party and what do I get? Nothing. Not even ice cream.' " I say in my best Groucho Marx.
"Too bad for you."