Ok, so my damn phone bill came and it had a massive overage charge, which I never do, because I don't talk to that many people, so my dang phone bill was, let's see, can I do math in my head, 41 goes into 158 how many times? Anyway, it's a fucking huge phone bill, for me anyway. So no one call me. Text me, but not more than 250 times, because then I'll have to pay for them assuming that I answer each text, which adds up to 500 texts total. Which I can add up in my head, thanks. So to recap, don't call me, you bastards. Text me, please, but only if it's important. Because I can't be spending my beer money on fucking phone calls, ok?
Hey, do you remember Carl, the straight guy who knows all the words to Grease? I do, but he don't remember me, kids, and he's sitting right next to me, ignoring me, which is fine, because I'm not in the mood exactly to be too nice to strangers. I'm in the mood to pick a fight, actually, and I haven't felt like this in forever. I didn't miss it.
Let's not go picking fights for fun. Hey look, my battery power is running out. Dang. I wonder if they would install an outlet at this end of the bar for me. That would be so convenient. I can't move to the geek corner with the outlets because people are occupying all the outlet-adjacent tables.
It's very difficult being me.
PS. Tonight's drinking is sponsored by last month's freelance gig, which I finally got paid for today. Don't worry, I'll pay the phone bill tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment