I couldn’t have found myself in a worse position than this at the moment if I had been paid for it. I have an appointment with Doom this evening. I will have to go to my neighbor’s house and help them set up their not so new Nintendo Wii because they’re too stupid to figure how to do it themselves. I’ve been putting it off for the past month and a half, but I just had to answer said neighbor’s phone call today, and it would have taken a great deal of lying to extricate myself from that situation. For a few moments I couldn’t even recognize the neighbor—even when she told me her name; twice. That’s what shock can do to you. Things like that happen when the person from whom you’ve been running away suddenly reveals that they were there all this while. I couldn’t help saying, Yes, because saying otherwise would render me very rude, and I have no intention whatsoever of creating that kind of an impression of myself in the neighborhood. First she asked if I was free then (in the morning), and I politely proposed that I’d go to her house in the evening to set things up, because, parenthetically, I had no intention of going to her house on such short notice. There was a moment of silence on the other line, making me believe that she was thinking through the idea deeply. She said, Yes, and that I could come over at around 5. I said, Yes, and hung up. I knew full well that at 5 p.m. is when I would go swimming, and I wouldn’t skip it for anything—least of all, for some trivial issue brought up by my ridiculously stupid neighbors. Hell, I’m not even obliged to go fix their damn Wii. Forget all that neighbors-are-always-there-for-you shit. My neighbor is this unemployed, presumably uneducated bastard who sits at home all day long, doing nothing except polluting the air around him with his flatulence, and advertising his stupidity in the neighborhood by asking favors of its residents for the stupidest reasons imaginable. Even my brother could have installed something as simple as the Nintendo Wii when he was 5. I fail to understand what that goddamn ignoramus possesses inside his cranium, if it isn’t a brain. Whatever it is, it still doesn’t change the fact that I finally relented to their stupid desire of having someone of superior intelligence come and fix their goddamn Wii for their goddamn daughter to play. They’d better be happy and grateful to me. It isn’t every day, after all, that their four walls are accustomed to surrounding a brain. I should be recognized by society as a generous heart (barf) who went out of his way to help the stupid and the needy. Stupid neighbors should seriously be blasted off to Mars or something.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
stupid neighbors
I couldn’t have found myself in a worse position than this at the moment if I had been paid for it. I have an appointment with Doom this evening. I will have to go to my neighbor’s house and help them set up their not so new Nintendo Wii because they’re too stupid to figure how to do it themselves. I’ve been putting it off for the past month and a half, but I just had to answer said neighbor’s phone call today, and it would have taken a great deal of lying to extricate myself from that situation. For a few moments I couldn’t even recognize the neighbor—even when she told me her name; twice. That’s what shock can do to you. Things like that happen when the person from whom you’ve been running away suddenly reveals that they were there all this while. I couldn’t help saying, Yes, because saying otherwise would render me very rude, and I have no intention whatsoever of creating that kind of an impression of myself in the neighborhood. First she asked if I was free then (in the morning), and I politely proposed that I’d go to her house in the evening to set things up, because, parenthetically, I had no intention of going to her house on such short notice. There was a moment of silence on the other line, making me believe that she was thinking through the idea deeply. She said, Yes, and that I could come over at around 5. I said, Yes, and hung up. I knew full well that at 5 p.m. is when I would go swimming, and I wouldn’t skip it for anything—least of all, for some trivial issue brought up by my ridiculously stupid neighbors. Hell, I’m not even obliged to go fix their damn Wii. Forget all that neighbors-are-always-there-for-you shit. My neighbor is this unemployed, presumably uneducated bastard who sits at home all day long, doing nothing except polluting the air around him with his flatulence, and advertising his stupidity in the neighborhood by asking favors of its residents for the stupidest reasons imaginable. Even my brother could have installed something as simple as the Nintendo Wii when he was 5. I fail to understand what that goddamn ignoramus possesses inside his cranium, if it isn’t a brain. Whatever it is, it still doesn’t change the fact that I finally relented to their stupid desire of having someone of superior intelligence come and fix their goddamn Wii for their goddamn daughter to play. They’d better be happy and grateful to me. It isn’t every day, after all, that their four walls are accustomed to surrounding a brain. I should be recognized by society as a generous heart (barf) who went out of his way to help the stupid and the needy. Stupid neighbors should seriously be blasted off to Mars or something.
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