Balls.
Man, Wellsy, that goin-to-court business--that sucks. That sucks pretty bad. That summons must have been postmarked directly from here:
The inside of Amish's colon.
How bad was the note you sent the guy? Did you call him a shitcock? Or threaten to devein him?
This is the kind of thing that could have happened to me, so I'm particularly interested to see what comes of the case. How are you getting to Iowa on such short notice? Do you need a place to stay? Etc?
My own brush with the law involved being ejected from a bar over the weekend. Was it my first time being ejected from a bar? Yes! Should I have been at other times? Possibly! This time? No! If you're interested--I was kissing Sarah on a booth when a huge guy in a tiny t-shirt asked me to follow him into the back, where two other huge guys in tiny t-shirts were standing around, looking menacing. Also there was a scrawny boneboy in managerial gear. And they asked me if I'd punched the hole in the wall. Where was the hole in the wall? Down there. Oh. So it was more of a kick? No, you punched the hole in the wall. Did I? Yes, you did. Here, look at my knuckles--they're not even slightly swollen. And doesn't that indentation look more like it was kicked, or backed into with a service cart? And why is the wallpaper not broken? Well, you tell us. You did it. No, I didn't. Well, you're paying for it. No, I'm not. How do you want to go about paying for this? (This is when my vision started spinning crimson) Well, tell you what, motherfucker. If you have someone who claims to have seen this, or video, or something like fucking that, call the police and have them talk to me about it or leave me alone. Just call the police. (This is when the manager grabbed my wrist) That's it, you're outta here! (This is when I'm escorted out by four guys, trailed by indignant Sarah).
Which would have been a kinda cool story, with me being falsely accused, if I hadn't spent the next hour bitterly vowing under my breath to have all their jobs, limbs, etc., and probably seeming like a whiny bitch to my companions.
This last week of the blog can be titled "Things that will prod us along the path to supervillainy."
The inside of Amish's colon.
How bad was the note you sent the guy? Did you call him a shitcock? Or threaten to devein him?
This is the kind of thing that could have happened to me, so I'm particularly interested to see what comes of the case. How are you getting to Iowa on such short notice? Do you need a place to stay? Etc?
My own brush with the law involved being ejected from a bar over the weekend. Was it my first time being ejected from a bar? Yes! Should I have been at other times? Possibly! This time? No! If you're interested--I was kissing Sarah on a booth when a huge guy in a tiny t-shirt asked me to follow him into the back, where two other huge guys in tiny t-shirts were standing around, looking menacing. Also there was a scrawny boneboy in managerial gear. And they asked me if I'd punched the hole in the wall. Where was the hole in the wall? Down there. Oh. So it was more of a kick? No, you punched the hole in the wall. Did I? Yes, you did. Here, look at my knuckles--they're not even slightly swollen. And doesn't that indentation look more like it was kicked, or backed into with a service cart? And why is the wallpaper not broken? Well, you tell us. You did it. No, I didn't. Well, you're paying for it. No, I'm not. How do you want to go about paying for this? (This is when my vision started spinning crimson) Well, tell you what, motherfucker. If you have someone who claims to have seen this, or video, or something like fucking that, call the police and have them talk to me about it or leave me alone. Just call the police. (This is when the manager grabbed my wrist) That's it, you're outta here! (This is when I'm escorted out by four guys, trailed by indignant Sarah).
Which would have been a kinda cool story, with me being falsely accused, if I hadn't spent the next hour bitterly vowing under my breath to have all their jobs, limbs, etc., and probably seeming like a whiny bitch to my companions.
This last week of the blog can be titled "Things that will prod us along the path to supervillainy."
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