I love how when my buddy Todd calls, and he leaves a message like it is 1987 and I have one of those old timey answering machines. You remember, with those little micro-cassettes? The good old days when you could screen your calls, and the callers message would be broadcast throughout the house. Todd's are always "Hey buddy, I know you are there, pick up. Come on dude, get out of bed and pick up the phone, dude, pick up, dude, come on"
He sounds like he is trying to talk you down from the ledge. Or that you are sitting, alone, in the dark, your face illuminated only the red blinking zero on the "machine", spinning the barrel of your Colt .22, twirling your red wine glass by the stem, considering all the ways that life has failed you.
Hey, Dude, maybe I'm just sleeping off a good buzz from drinking 17 beers today! Now I am fucking awake and it will only take me 13 more beers before I pass out for the night. And I was budgeted for a full 24! And it will only be 9:30 PM! Dude. No. Dude!
PS: I don't own a gun. And Colt does make a twenty-two, right? Or just that cheap beer? Dude?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment