play [Revolver Ocelot] for me
yesterday i rounded the kitchen corner at mach3 with my mountain of fruit and nearly took out Inscrutable Chinese Man (who recently upgraded to 21 cats. WTF). he was more nonplussed by my apology than his close-call with a pomelo.
- finn! your voice is different.
- i'm sick.
- it's sexy.
- i'm glad you like it.
the dry sarcasm was lost on him. he waved his hand excitedly.
- go on. say something sexy.
- FancyFeast ten for ten dollars in aisle seven.
- no, no. come on. be serious.
i sighed, thought a sec, and rallied.
- i've been waiting for you, Solid Snake.
his finely-tuned gamer thumbs twitched in pavlovian response and he rubbed his hands gleefully and shuffled away muttering softly to himself. that was easy.
i won't have this voice for much longer, so this morning i called ICM's voicemail and read off the specs for the new 17" MacBook Pro straight from the Apple site. by the time i got to the multi-touchpad i wasn't acting anymore. may his stony little black micro$oft heart explode. ima jess payin' it forward.
6 comments:
you devilwoman you.
You know he'll be rubbing one of those cats tonight, repeating that phrase and doing that voice, right?
My phone number's (800) 642-7676. Call me.
this is serious stuff people. i'm just after plunging the 4th floor toilet whilst singing cohen's 'hallelujah' and when i came out of the bathroom (MISSION ACCOMPLISHED btw) michelangelo was sobbing. that was beautiful - he said - i'm sorry, but i have to go be in nature now - and he fled the building. he's now sitting in the empty lot plaiting together pieces of rusty barbwire and chickweed.
i must exercise caution.
Are we talking kathleen Turner?
we are.
unless you make me laugh -- which you Would do -- because that triggers an anaerobic coughing fit and then we are talking marge schott.
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