The elevator opened the other day in my building and some dude was standing in it with his pants around his ankles. Now he wasn’t hanging brain (as Creed Bratton would say) but he quickly pulled them up, like he was surprised to see me standing there, in the lobby of the CNN building.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I’m thinking that but I don’t say anything and he leaves the elevator. I check for feces and don’t see any.
There is a guy who looks like Yoda who until recently I thought was my enemy. He is pretty hilarious and he doesn’t make many calls, I think he’s worked there for a long time and he doesn’t give a shit anymore. We both like Shaq.
“Hi you’ve reached the Richardson’s if you’re a telemarketer you can go get fucked.”
I’m broke, which if you’ve read anything leading up to this, does not come as a surprise. So my uncle got me some Best Buy gift cards for Christmas. With no cash for groceries I’ve been stopping in before work and picking up a couple of sodas and a bag of cheez-its. California Dreamin’ bitches.
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