Trashed elbow

WARNING: the following sequence is replete with malapropisms, stupidity and inarticulacy. It was quite early in the morning, at least on my body clock.
(The bedroom of Michael Goetz. Mike is fast asleep on his futon. A doorbell rings in the background, followed by a loud voice in Japanese. Someone answers the door. A few seconds later, there is an enthusiastic knocking on Mike's bedroom door.)

MIKE: Mwuh?

(enter Dan with a heavily taped-up box with a picture of a juicer on the side)

DAN: Wake up! Someone sent you a juicer!

MIKE: What? (takes the package) This is interesting...

DAN: That's so cool!

MIKE: No, wait... no, I don't think this is a juicer, dude.

DAN: WHAT???

(Mike opens the box to reveal a variety of Japonica, such as green tea, medicine, etc. Reads the label on the box.)

MIKE: "Rie Aoki..." It's a care package.

(Mike's girlfriend, Rie, is in Canada. She sends him care packages, but usually North American stuff, not crappy green tea which we can buy anywhere.)

DAN: So, what's the crack?

MIKE: This is stuff for Rie. Her mother sent this...

DAN: Well, if it's meant to be in Canada, what the hell's it doing here?

(Mike gives pitying look)

DAN: Hang on- I'll try to make that a little more...

MIKE: Cryptic?

DAN: No, wait... a little less insane. Why did she send the package here and not to Canada?

MIKE: It seems I have become the courier.

(Mike is meeting up with Rie this weekend as part of his Thanksgiving trip)

DAN: Well, evidently I'm not going to get any juice here, so I guess I'll go back to bed. Shame, I quite fancied some juice.

THE END