i will destroy your holiday
My nerves are shot. There's a 75 year old woman sitting about seven feet from me this second who is asking for a good throttling. Luckily for her there is a four foot high desk between us and I am feeling lethargic.
Now she is gone. She has been replace by a 70 year old man who says my name with that lonnng A vowel that means you are a New Yorker. The old bat lady didn't know my name but if she did she wouldn't have used that vowel because the only sound she can make is a hideous, grating screech.
I need exercise and I am not getting enough sleep and I have been way too domestic lately and there is about to be a crazy amount of people staying at my house and my buddy Sylow just chatted at me this second saying that I probably have incurred the wrath of some Irish Deity by lumping Irish and Canadian whiskey in the same category on St. Patrick's Day.
Hey, maybe that hagling lady is the Drunken Irish God. I am warning all you Irish people out there right now. When she comes back, if she says even one word to me I will kill your god and ruin St. Patty's Day forever. I am in no mood and my nerves are shot.
Now she is gone. She has been replace by a 70 year old man who says my name with that lonnng A vowel that means you are a New Yorker. The old bat lady didn't know my name but if she did she wouldn't have used that vowel because the only sound she can make is a hideous, grating screech.
I need exercise and I am not getting enough sleep and I have been way too domestic lately and there is about to be a crazy amount of people staying at my house and my buddy Sylow just chatted at me this second saying that I probably have incurred the wrath of some Irish Deity by lumping Irish and Canadian whiskey in the same category on St. Patrick's Day.
Hey, maybe that hagling lady is the Drunken Irish God. I am warning all you Irish people out there right now. When she comes back, if she says even one word to me I will kill your god and ruin St. Patty's Day forever. I am in no mood and my nerves are shot.
posted by sparklestone at 10:55 AM
2 Comments:
Here's what to do. If the hag returns ask if she can distinguish between Jameson and Canadian Mist blind-folded. If she says no, tell her St. Patrick will be very displeased, and that she'd better get home quick before something bad happens. If she says yes, promptly blind-fold and beat the fuck out of her with the crooked cane she rode in on.
I'm glad the lady left before you kilt her. Wait, a kilt isn't Irish either, is it?
I'm a bit pooped myself -- you and I have been working too hard. I just spent one hour writing an email to my web team, telling them to quit blathering on about the colors and to make a damned decision. It wasn't my most diplomatic moment, but sheesh... they picked the wrong week.
You, though, You I like.
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