Well, the perks of my job just don’t stop. I get to go to see Tarzan with 45 chicks tomorrow. I like my chances. And a lot of the older girls ask me why all the other girls like me, and I honestly don’t know. I think it’s just because I treat them like normal adults. Tiny, stupid adults. Actually, I think I figured it out. I think I unintentionally pit them against each other in competition for my attention. It’s probably not emotionally healthy, but it’s a damn fun game! Now, if only I can harness this talent, and somehow manipulate the basics a bit to be able to control the minds of older women. Like 18 and 17 year olds. Then, I could complete my life and write that book. But for right now, I guess I’ll have to settle for the 9 and 10 year olds. They learned a new game today where they con Mr. Dustin into spinning them around until he falls down on his stomach. Then two kids grab each arm and pull me like a taxi around the gym with another person sitting on my back. I hope this game doesn’t become too popular.
Well, my car (the old, nonfunctional one) is finally getting towed tomorrow. And once I raise the money to get the other one inspected, I’m going to have a fully functional, non-illegal car. I already got it insured, as I already told you all. The reason I’m repeating myself now is two-fold. A) I’m exhausted, and B) I’m setting up the quote. Because I can’t remember anything creative right now (See A), I’m quoting my insurance agent when he was filling out my application over the phone. He asked me a bunch of questions about the car (year, make, model, dead bodies in the trunk…), and he asked me a question I guess he’s required to ask, but I found rather silly and pointless to answer…
“So, Mr. Fisher… do you wear your seat belt?”
“Only when I get pulled over.”
Non stop from here to the nurse’s office,
Still Standing Right Here…