A Nobel and Stupid Tale
Many of you have heard me bitch about this story, but not many of you have heard me bitch about it in inky, written form.
Once, in a distant lande, there wasse a noble deliverer of meat and cheese pies. Oftentime, the cookes who madde these pies wolde focke them up something greate and terrible, and thanne the deliverer wolde catch all the wrathe of Sathanes and his deviles from the patrons who purchassed the pies. Comme a time that the scoundrly cookes mangled an ordre so great and wondroussley that the warden of the meat and cheese pies offered this ordre unto the patron for no more coin than five gold dollars. Hokay, said this unsightly wench, and so the courier of pies amounted his sputtry steed and bounced outte across the hilles and slums of Albia, in search of this vile patron's home. And whanne it came that he found her dwelling, she appeared herself upon the stoope, looking to be rather large-bellied and full of ire. She wasse all of the age of fifteen years. The deliverer handed her the pie and asked for five dollars. She trafficked only in quarter-dollars, tho, and so handed our noble deliverer eight dollars' worthy, or 32 quarter-dollars. Thanne our deliverer, having three dollars too many, thanked this ogrous woman and turned to make his way. "Ah," she said, sounding alike she'd finally give way to Satanas' tempting hunger and swallowed her very tongue for noorishment, "in sooth, I will need the change."
And so I ask you: why the hell did she give me 12 extra fucking quarters if she wanted the change? There was no tip there; and it's not like I had to break any bill for her. She owed me five; she gave me eight. Then she asked me to hand the extra quarters right back.
That's like leaving four ones on the table, and when the waitress gets them, saying her tip is only two, and she'll have to make change.
The only explanation is that she couldn't F'ing count.
Tomorrow I go to win my second Halo tournament, this time as part of the 101st Fighting Hobos. So what if that first tournament consisted of a bunch of Gamestop fanboys at midnight over a year ago? It was cold, man! And we were drunk! Were those kids drunk? No. And Goathead and I still came out on top.
Once, in a distant lande, there wasse a noble deliverer of meat and cheese pies. Oftentime, the cookes who madde these pies wolde focke them up something greate and terrible, and thanne the deliverer wolde catch all the wrathe of Sathanes and his deviles from the patrons who purchassed the pies. Comme a time that the scoundrly cookes mangled an ordre so great and wondroussley that the warden of the meat and cheese pies offered this ordre unto the patron for no more coin than five gold dollars. Hokay, said this unsightly wench, and so the courier of pies amounted his sputtry steed and bounced outte across the hilles and slums of Albia, in search of this vile patron's home. And whanne it came that he found her dwelling, she appeared herself upon the stoope, looking to be rather large-bellied and full of ire. She wasse all of the age of fifteen years. The deliverer handed her the pie and asked for five dollars. She trafficked only in quarter-dollars, tho, and so handed our noble deliverer eight dollars' worthy, or 32 quarter-dollars. Thanne our deliverer, having three dollars too many, thanked this ogrous woman and turned to make his way. "Ah," she said, sounding alike she'd finally give way to Satanas' tempting hunger and swallowed her very tongue for noorishment, "in sooth, I will need the change."
And so I ask you: why the hell did she give me 12 extra fucking quarters if she wanted the change? There was no tip there; and it's not like I had to break any bill for her. She owed me five; she gave me eight. Then she asked me to hand the extra quarters right back.
That's like leaving four ones on the table, and when the waitress gets them, saying her tip is only two, and she'll have to make change.
The only explanation is that she couldn't F'ing count.
Tomorrow I go to win my second Halo tournament, this time as part of the 101st Fighting Hobos. So what if that first tournament consisted of a bunch of Gamestop fanboys at midnight over a year ago? It was cold, man! And we were drunk! Were those kids drunk? No. And Goathead and I still came out on top.
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