While on an early morning train home from Penn Station this past Saturday, I met a nice guy. I approached him, we talked, we got along well. I commented about how tired I was & how I’d missed my first train; he offered to give me money to take a cab home from the Jamaica station while he transferred & went on to Floral Park. I told him that I couldn’t accept him paying that much money, but I thought the sentiment was very sweet.
Before we transferred, I asked for his number; he typed it into my cell phone. We didn’t get on the same car when we transferred, so that was that.
I tried to call him this afternoon, using the number he’d typed in; the motherfucking number didn’t work. It’s “not in service at this time”. That slimy dickhead.
You ball-less son of a bitch. You couldn’t just tell me you weren’t interested, huh? You didn’t even have the intelligence and/or decency to evade my request by only giving me your e-mail? You couldn’t say, “Why don’t I get yours instead?”. You couldn’t even give me some bullshit “I have a girlfriend/I’m engaged/I’m castrated/I have an intimate reationship with my mother which can’t be interfered with” excuse, huh? Even though I would never see you again anyway & thus, could never call you on your white lie.
Nope, not you, Mr. Wonderful. You had to be a mutton-felching dickhead about it & pretend to be interested to the point where you agreed to give me your phone number, only so I could find out that it’s “not in service at this time”. Perhaps you just thought it would be funny to fuck with me.
Well, my dear boy, I wasn’t fucking amused. I hope you get a permanent case of whiskey dick to accompany your lack of balls, you incomparably gigantic asshole. :mad:
Not a rant for the Hall of Fame, but I feel better. The end.