So I says to the boy, I says, Hey boy- stop with all that distracting needing of things and daily developments so I can find something to write about. Alas, he listeneth not.
Yesterday he was playing around with his lunch (and oh how that game goes over big in the middle of the yuppy brew-pubs we frequent), so I whinged to J- Maybe he's waiting for pheasant under glass? J, always the bright bulb, fired back, You mean instead of boob under blanket?
I'm redoing my dye job tomorrow. Do you think I'll look trailer-trash in black/blue? Remember the time zone change if you decide to advise me, just in case I do it and you're all, Don't do it- you'll look like shite. And then I'll be like, Damn- I wanted to be original yet classy.
Lull lull lull. See?