fun with text

The boy was forced to be in the company of many, many people he didn't like and didn't want to be around for several hours. This happens to him frequently and so we text our way through the night for time passage and amusement. This is one such conversation.


Him: I'm surrounded by idiots and douchebags. How are you?

Me: Trying to get sleepy....any good characters there tonight?

Him: They are all a bunch of fucking retards and I'm forced to stand here in the middle of them.

Me: Maybe you can plot the retard-lympics. They could be sponsored by a hair gel company and Ed Hardy.

Him: Don't forget Myspace.

Me: They could team up with You Tube for broadcasting purposes.

Him: This is like the remedial bar night for people too scared to go out on weekends.

Me: Haha...is there a short bus in the parking lot? Anyone wearing a helmet?

Him: No, but there are 2 guys with Aspergers.

Me: You should befriend them for social anthropology purposes.

Him: I have. I make them sing really difficult songs.

Me: Good job! See if you can get them to sing any Linda Ronstadt or Gary Newman. The retard chicks will swoon!

Him: I have them sing Hank Williams, Jr.

Me: That's just so you get to hear it. Although hearing it butchered may cure you.

Him: Quit hugging trees and absolving the Clinton's and I'll stop listening to country.

Me: Good one. But country is way worse than any politician could be. And I know you secretly love the trees.

Me: And I know about your stash of hemp clothes and sitar 8 tracks.

Him: Clinton gets credit for a wave of prosperity he had nothing to do with and his wife had a guy murdered.

Me: Country assaults the ears of millions, daily and has fueled hundreds of domestic beatings and more than a few trucks hurling themselves off of cliffs. Totally worse.

Him: Have fun in your socialist paradise.

Me: Republican. Maybe Gee Dub could preside over the retard-lympics, although I guess he kind of already does.

Him: Good luck paying for Hillary's health care program.

Me: I'm gonna invite her over to my village for a town hall meeting to discuss it. Bill can play Hail to the Chief on the sax when she comes in.


There were a couple more after that, but this was the crux of the conversation. Even when in a pseudo-social situation, we can still covertly debate politics and country music. Country music, incidentally, is a genre that elicits convulsive vomiting from me. But that's neither here nor there.

Next week we'll tackle immigration reform; stay tuned.