I’m standing on line at a store with 15 porno magazines, a case of condoms, and a jar of Vaseline. There I am, your average, work-a-day pervert (albeit drop-dead gorgeous and hung like a walrus), eye-raping a single mom in line ahead of me, when a dude gets in line behind me. He’s blonde, wearing a tie, carrying a bottle of vitamin water, and is yelling obnoxiously loud into a Bluetooth set.
“Yeah. Bob. She’s such a twat. I can’t believe that JB decided to give her the Bateman account. Fuck her. I swear, next time she comes on to me I’m going to say, ‘Listen whore, I don’t care if your kid DOES have cancer. I’m not going to pity fuck you.’ What a cunt. Hey, did you see the game last night?”
And this is where my fantasy really kicks into gear. Because as he goes on to question the manhood and sexuality of the Jets starting line, I turn around and, with the quick, precise, and devastating motions, proceed to beat this man until blood gushes from his ears, he soils himself, and passes out.
Seriously, it’s like the scene from Goodfellas where Ray Liotta pistol whips the dude who touched his girlfriend.
Sometimes, in my dream, the man is accompanied by a bored, vacant looking blonde girl, who screams hysterically when her date is beaten to death by a man carrying a 54 pack of Trojan magnums. Other times, it’s an equally blonde and vacant-looking male friend who tries to intervene and so joins his friend on the ambulance gurney.
I’ve reached the point where I’m completely fed up with the importance that people seem to assign to assholes on a cell phone. Like when you’re at dinner and their phone rings. Then we allow this loser to hold up a finger and interrupt us while they take a call. Or when they put the phone on the table when they eat, just to remind us: “be interesting. Otherwise, I have other options.”
Under what other circumstances would we stand for that? Imagine you’re talking to your friend when, mid-sentence, he gets up and starts a conversation with a dude that yelled hello to him from across the restaurant. When he came back, he’d be lucky if you hadn’t already relieved yourself on his sandwich. Having a phone does not excuse you from having social graces.
But the absolute worst is the cock suckers who walk around with Bluetooth sets. I want to be clear: I own a Bluetooth. But I also live in a state where it’s illegal to drive and talk on the phone without a headset. Driving and talking I understand. But there is absolutely no excuse for walking around with one. Are you really so lazy that you can no longer lift your fucking phone to your ear? If you are, you should start demanding that all your food be served to you liquefied, in a trough, and with a straw. You should also stop walking and hire a team of Indian man-slaves to carry you on a litter.
What we need is a new ordinance that makes it legal to slap anyone walking around with a Bluetooth. I’m talking about an open palm, backhanded, pimp-slap you like you owe me money slap across the teeth. We need to nip this in the bud fast, because lately I’ve been having difficulty distinguishing between business men on power lunches and crazy people having psychotic episodes.
5 comments:
Amen, brother!
I had a roommate with a bluetooth and it was the most annoying thing to see that little fucker walking around talking to himself all the time. He was already annoying enough without it. I think he had short man syndrome or something.
I just one suggestion: Change the Vaseline jar to a Crisco jar and you got yourself a story!
My Oil Man has a bluetooth but like you he only uses it when he's driving. He used to make fun off all the other people who had them but now I make fun of him!
Nan, please make sure that you do not turn into the blonde girl from my fantasy. Granted, you don't appear to be vacant...but you are involved with a man who owns a bluetooth. Tread carefully.
Post a Comment