Remember how I said a while back that we were getting a new renter? Yeah, the bitch didn't show. Just never moved in and didn't bother to call or email or anything. I thought I'd better let y'all know in case you were wondering. Because I'm the center of the universe.
So this conversation happened awhile ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday because my mind is a steel trap and almost as awesome as my boobs.
Me: So our new renter ever call you back about moving in?
The Captain: Nope.
Me: Did you email and ask her why she never showed?
The Captain: Yep. She didn't answer me.
Me: What the hell, man?
The Captain: I don't know, guess she changed her mind for some reason.
Me: That's so rude to not even call.
The Captain: Very. I wonder what happened?
The Captain: What?
Me: Maybe it was my fault.
The Captain: How is that possible?
Me: I might have mentioned that she was bald on my blog. But only in passing.
The Captain: So you think this random lady who was going to rent a room from us just happens to also read your blog and figured out you were talking about her and got upset and decided not to move in.
The Captain: Right.
Me: *squinty eyes* My blog is very popular.
The Captain: Yeah it is.
Me: *more squinty eyes* What are you trying to say?
The Captain: Nothing!
Me: *intense squinty eyes*
The Captain: What's wrong with you? Do you have something in your eye?
Me: Yeah. My fist.
The Captain: What?
Me: It's a metaphor.
The Captain: For what?
Me: For me punching you in the face.
The Captain: With an eye fist?
Me: Hell yeah with an eye fist. To the max.
The Captain: I don't think you understand what a metaphor is.
Me: *extreme squinty eyes*
The Captain: See, a good metaphor is something something something analogy something something something conveyed something something something word.
Me: Your mom's a good metaphor, punk.
The Captain: Why are you talking like Clint Eastwood?
Me: That's my eye fist talking. Right before it hits you in the mouth.
The Captain: I'm going to bed.
Me: You feelin' lucky, punk?
The Captain: *sigh* Goodnight, Dirty Harry.
Me: *scariest squinty eyes ever* That's right. Keep walkin', punk. Keep walkin'.
The Story my Son Wrote
2 days ago