I was going to comment on her highly unusual taste in bagel spreads.
I’ll trade you co-workers. My co-worker, who is in the next office down the hall, will e-mail me a message, walk the 15 feet to my office, and expect me to be able to discuss in detail the message he sent 5 seconds ago. Fucker still hasn’t picked up on the fact that I don’t even read his e-mails.
I’ll sweeten the deal for you. I’ll trade you FIVE of my co-workers for one of yours.
And I have seven cars on my property. Four of them run. I’m in deep shit if someone reports them. Luckily, none of them are on the street.
Worse yet, if some does report them, it’s a 95% chance it will be my wife making the call. Seriously, she just doesn’t fucking understand.
SOLD! To the strange man from the internet! You can have the FYI e-mails, too.
Hmm, wait. Are any of them attractive?
I believe that is a baseless rumor started by Paul Theroux as a joke to explain why Pacific Islanders are so enamored with mechanically separated canned meat products. I have it on good authority that human flesh actually tastes like prosciutto crudo, and is delightful when served wrapped around grilled asparagus and served with a semi-sweet sauvignon blanc. Or so I read once on the Internet.
Stranger
Well that solves the issue of what I’m having for dinner tonight.
So did you make it to the Double Deuce? I hear it’s a nice place and they don’t allow riff raff.
Nah, that place is a little too classy for me. It’s the kind of joint where you’re expected to drink your 40 from a straw. I stayed downtown.
Glad to be of assistance.
Stranger