A guy I know said, “Why don’t you just text me?”
Instead of telling him Machete isn’t the only one who doesn’t text (if you don’t get that reference I feel sorry for you) I said, “Okay.”
Next time I had to contact him I opened my email program, typed in his contact information, then typed,
“Call me.”
We went out last night and I ran into some comedians I know. It was nice. After they left my girlfriend and I sat there when this trio sits next to us. A loud, constantly conversing with anyone 20 year old wearing pink knee length shorts; his spray tanned faced, ripely stuffed into too little clothing girlfriend with toxic levels of perfume wafting from her and his mother. We know it was his mother because every 45 seconds he’d say, “Isn’t that right, Mom?”
Now, other than the mother, it’s not all that odd to see a couple like this in this general area. Sadly. And they wouldn’t have been worthy of a mention on these hallowed pages except for the fact the boyfriend gave the girlfriend a placemat and crayons. Which she ripped into as if it was a brand new bottle of Love’s Baby Slut: Attention Craving Whore Edition.
“Is she actually coloring?” My girlfriend asks.
“With glee.” I respond. Now I don’t know the last time you’ve seen an adult color with crayons but I’d hazzard to guess it was fucking never!
But she’s having a ripping good time. Tongue out wagging, furrowed brow, working it hard, making sure she was getting that wax INSIDE the lines!
During his loud conversation, loud as in traffic zooming past on the major highway just outside beeped to signal him to simmer down, to anyone more than ten feet away, his mother was watching him with all the pride only a mother who could raise such a dweeb could have. Seriously, she was looking at him so joyously you’d think he was curing toe fungus with the mere velocity of his speech.
Some time later, the boyfriend is checking out his girlfriends Van Gogh (if you get my drift – but really all I mean is coloring, you pervs) before saying,
“You know, that’s for six years olds, right?”
She stops for a moment, checks out her art, looks up at him, smiling a smile only someone who has acheived greatness can, and says,
“That’s why I’m doing so good.”
She turns her passion back to her crayonic masterpiece without missing a beat.
Work is such a horrible place they have to pay you to be there.
. . .said I don’t do jack around the house. So I said,
“Why would you want me to do the pool boy too?”
How To Be A Nonconformist was being released today. I went to get it but didn’t because the line was too long.
I saw a set list a friends cover band was going to play. And one of the songs struck me as a potential moral dilemma for the singer. So I asked,
“Can an atheist legally play Knocking On Heaven’s Door?”
. . .Dunkin’ Donuts when a guy walks up to me and says,
“Getting coffee?”
“No, fuckwad, I’m buying a car.”
A parent came up to me concerned, near frenzy actually, because she almost hit her kid. Almost? As in the thought crossed her mind but she didn’t actually follow through. If my Mother went into a tizzy every time she almost hit me she’d have had no time to actually hit me!
I tried to calm her, console her, the way I do, so said,
“Don’t think of it as spanking, think of it as playing full contact shut the fuck up!”
Once again my attempts to help society have fallen upon deaf ears.
The Bound & Gags Wonder Blog 