small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>I love my friends</strong>

Monday, July 12

I love my friends


Best quote from a friend.
“I’ve worked with sex offender’s for over three years, so I think I know what I’m doing”

I was hanging out at the Hurricane Friday after work talking to friends when I decided to take one of my female friends to the hole. I love this chick to bits but she has a couple of, “what do you call em”? Oh yeah, habits that drive me crazy. The first one deals with her purse which for lack of a better term I call the ball. Well it’s not really a ball or a “normal” purse but this thing that looks like something that was made by some dirty old hippy after he beat up an old swabby and took his fishing net and made purses out of it. She’ll stuff all her crap in it and after pulling the drawstring tight it looks like a ball hanging from a rope. She’ll walk into the room and just sling the muthafucker into the corner or flop it on the bar, then she’s off doing whatever it is that chicks do in a bar. And because I’m usually sitting near her I feel like I have to keep an eye on the “ball” and shit till she swings back into sight. So I’ve taken her to task a few times over the issue of how she treats the “ball” and isn’t it time you got yourself a proper purse? The second thing deals with the fact that she’ll talk to anybody. And before you go off on a tear, I don’t expect anyone to be as unsociable as me. Fuck, I barely talk to people I like. But my friend will be sitting there talking up a storm to her friends around her until she sees some cat sitting by himself, minding his own fuckin business and sipping on his fuckin drink and. At least until my friend goes over and starts up a conversation like she’s known the muthafucker all her life
…………………”shit…………………………..hold on……………………………………………………………sorry………..I had to field a phone call from my sister. See our aged mother is going to Nashville for a few days. And I mentioned in passing that if she happens to stop by the Grand Old Opera and happens to see a Dolly Parton doll in the gift shop, I wouldn’t mind having one. She mentions this to my sister who goes, “oh, he meant a Dolly Parton blow up doll”. Like I need my aged sweet old mother kicking around Nashville looking for Dolly Parton blowup dolls and shit. So after talking to my sister I had to call my mother and head her off at the pass, and tell her not to be looking for no goddamn Dolly Parton blowup doll”……………………………………………………………………………. ……………………………………………………………………………………………….
Any fuckin way, back to my friend who has this insane habit of talking to strangers. It just freaks me out when she leaves the group and flutters off and decides to befriend some cat none of us know and invite him into the group. “And this is Greg, but he probably won’t talk to you because he doesn’t like strangers”. So the other day I attempted to have a talk with her about it, and that’s when she informed me that she knows what she’s doing. Knows what she’s doing because she’s worked for years with sex offenders as a social worker and knows how to “read” people. Furthermore, bad people wouldn’t be sitting in a bar at five o’clock in the afternoon. I almost put some bass in my voice when I answered that one. “What? Like assholes have to punch a time clock and shit? Oh, it’s not dark yet, a few hours more before I can turn on that insidious asshole charm”. Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Some people’s kids, I fuckin tell ya.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"

2 Comments:

Blogger Brent said...

You know, Greg, a Dolly Parton blow-up doll might be worht some money...just thinkin' is all.

8:36 PM  
Blogger satyavati said...

And they love you too.

9:29 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home