[This is undeniably super fucking weird, and Pratt's pretty sure he's tripping balls. But it's pleasant enough that he's not gonna make a big deal about it. Hanging with a half dozen Wayne's isn't so bad. The couch is comfy, the tv is playing some psychedelic static, he had a juice box while skritching a bitty Wayne thing. Things are alright.

He barely flinches at that head pat, overcome with the essence of: chill.]

Oh sick. And then those lil guys out there will be the next generation. And you guys turn into the... hella eyes and a tail right?