On occasion, I do some stupid things. No, really. I know it’s hard to believe, but just take my word for it. Better yet, let me give you an example:
So there I was in the supermarket, buying my weekly supply of Hi-C and Special K cereal bars . . . Well, fuck, now everyone knows my secret about how I maintain my svelte figure . . . Anyhow, I was at the grocery store and I had this feeling that they’d be out of my favourite Hi-C flavour, which of course is Flashin’ Fruit Punch®. So I say to myself, “I bet they don’t have Flashin’ Fruit Punch®.” And myself says “Oh yeah? How much you wanna bet?” And without thinking, I say, “Two million bucks.” So myself says, “You’re on,” and we shake on it.
Well, you can guess what happened. I turned the corner and there was a fucking gigantic display of Hi-C Flashin’ Fruit Punch® at the end of the aisle! I mean, it was huge. You could’ve seen it from the parking lot, it was that huge. So myself says, “Pay up.” And I say, “Yeah, right,” and I just shrug it off.
So anyway, I made my way back home and I cracked open a couple boxes of cereal bars for dinner when the phone suddenly started ringing. So I picked up and guess who it was. Yeah, it was me!
“You and me got some unfinished business.”
“What?”
“A little matter of two million dollars.”
“Dude. I don’t have anything even close to two million dollars.”
“Yeah? Well, maybe youze shoulda thought of dat before youze placed that wager.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Crazy? You’re the one who’s crazy.”
“You’ve got a point there. But fuck off, just the same. And work on your accent. It’s terrible.”
And then I hung up. I mean, who the fuck was he to tell me what to do? OK, he was me, but besides that point, what gave him the right to harass me? Anyhow, about an hour later, just as I was finishing my 10th cereal bar, there was a loud banging on my door. Yeah, it was me again. Fuck.
I opened the door and I immediately grabbed myself by the throat and pinned me against the wall.
“Hey, take it easy!”
“Take it easy? You want me to take it easy? How ’bout I take it easy on your face!”
“Was that a threat?”
“Yeah, I think so. It kinda sucked, didn’t it?”
“You can’t threaten someone by saying you’re going to take it easy on them.”
“How ’bout if I say I’m gonna cut you open and spill your guts all over this floor?”
“Dude, c’mon. I just ate.”
“Too much?”
“Yeah. Let’s just stick to breaking arms or something, OK?”
“Yeah, yeah, breaking arms is good. I’m gonna break your fuckin’ arms!”
“Both of them?”
“You said ‘arms.'”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean both of them.”
“You know what, this is stupid.”
“What is? Arguing with yourself?”
“No, this whole story.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty lame.”
“Seriously. Where is this going?”
“No clue.”
“You know what’s going on?”
“What?”
“He hasn’t posted in a while and he’s so desperate that he’s willing to write anything that comes to mind.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“I know. I hope he’s just doing this as an exercise and won’t actually post this.”
“Nah, he wouldn’t. Would he?”
And with that, Smivey hit the “Publish” key and sent the dreadful post to his blog site for all to read. Big mistake.
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