Mike gets scolded
Mike, it's time to start committing some of your stories to print. I've been waiting for you to write down the one about the first McDonalds home delivery ever. If you don't start spinning some of your best yarns in printed form, I'm going to have to start quietly placing a dictaphone on the table when we go out for drinks and typing up the transcriptions when I get home. And I don't want to do that. Transcription is long, boring work, even when it's brilliant material. So get writing.
posted by Peter Lynn @ 8:12 PM
1 Comments:
Existence: Confirmed. Condition: Overworked.
I had a dream a short while ago that you, Mike, called me in a panic, sobbing almost uncontrollably, and said that I had to meet you. When I asked what was wrong you said that it was your sister. She was going to die. I rushed to meet you at the hospital to help in any way that I could but couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. When I arrived you had gained your composure. Indeed, you didn't look upset at all. That's when I remembered that you didn't even have a sister. When I mentioned this to you you busted into a posedown and started to yell.
"That's right, jackass! I don't have a sister. But what I do have is a gym and it's time for your lazy ass to start working out!"
It turns out that I wasn't at a hospital at all but instead in the middle of a brand spanking new Grizzly Gym. I can't help but think there would have been an easier way for you to get me there though.
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