First I'll collect unused white toothpaste. None of that bling blue, pin-stripy stuff. Mix'em all together in a giant mixing bowl with other white products laying around the house such as, but not limited to, drywall dust, primer, salt, and powdered sugar. Maybe some egg whites, too, a handful of oatmeal and a shot of Elmer's glue. The rest is just water but I'll call it Metrolearixm-H20, a scientifically proven hearing enhancement even radio personalities can't pronounce—cha ching! They'll be rubbing that shit in their ears like sunblock faster than friendly fire in South Africa.
Autocorrect capitalized Ching without my permission. 'Make that twice. "Cha ching" is the sound of my pockets overflowing in wealth, Autocorrect, you racist bastard! If you weren't so woke, maybe you'd know wtf year it is.
Down here. Boo! How's it goin? Nice to be seen. So that's how these start. For this one I sifted through the folder called #funny (In my file cabinet are many folders). Whenever I think of something I think's funny, I write it down followed by weeks or months or sometimes forever failing to convince myself anyone other than myself will think it's funny. I never elaborate on the damn note either—sucks. I end up having to freestyle my way through the thing. All that one said was Hearing cream. This next one says:
Appreciate Telemarketers. 'Hello?' ello? O0 0 o. Pura and I changed our phone numbers recently. When we landed in Florida last year we ordered Nashville phone numbers. There's a new telemarketing robot that bothers the living shit out of all oxygen breathing mortals state side—extended vehicle warranty service.
Dix!
When we left the country back in 2018, the robot was undeveloped. The first time she and I received the telemarketing call in 2020 was within a few days of actually purchasing a vehicle—convenient! "Push 1 to speak to a representative."
Dammit!
Half year and a half dozen robotic phone calls a day later, we changed our numbers again. California prefix again. They don't call Pura anymore, called me once. They weren't convinced I drive a two-tone 2021 Rolls Royce Phantom valued at a half million bucks. Said it doesn't qualify. "Do you have another vehicle sir?" 'I do.' Informed her of our commuter, Gulfstream G650 jet :click: Haven't heard back since—never should've pressed 1.
Be in two places at the same time in three - two... I tend to overthink things. I often remind people Kiss stands for keep it simple stupid I just can't seem to stay reminded myself. But if I'm where I am right now and if I'm where you are right now then that was easier than I thought. This next one says:
Be nicer to my wife. No-brainer. We've been shopping for property since returning to the states. Apartments are so scarce right now, we secured the unit we're currently in sight unseen. Our lease expires in September, we'll relocate. Something a little bigger, a little more comfortable, permanent if it's a good deal, whatever else I can say right here that'll detour you from the truth which is I suck at parking.
Pura needs a bigger kitchen. I'd love it if she had a center island, she really wants one. And more than one sink, things a chef needs—space. She's a chef. I'm always in her way in the kitchen. If I'm doing dishes, she needs the oven. If I'm putting away groceries, she needs the fridge. The pantry is across from the fridge so we can only be in one at a time, she needs a bigger kitchen.
In the meantime, I'll be the husband I vowed to be. Nothing makes me happier than seeing Pura happy. Can't believe I didn't think of it sooner—stay out!
Dishes aren't worth the hassle. I'm not gonna cramp her space by washing dishes anymore, they're just dishes. She's already in there, she can do them, I'll only be in the way. #SayNo2Elbow2Elbow. If I need something from the pantry, I'll ask her to get it for me instead of getting it myself. Same with drinks, sinks, microwaves and putting dishes away. Our kitchen's bigger than I thought. Next:
Foul language. Shit! Not sure what the fuck I meant by that. 𝙴𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜—noted.
Privacy - private parts - punk ass kids. Cinch. I'm D and A, Dan, Arts, and a handful of aliases I've shared with you in the past four years. There's a reason for that.
I don't have kids but all my friends do, nearly all of them anyway, I watched each of them grow up. They did it at the exact same time their parents :stop: It's a cycle. I know how you grew up, too, how you were raised, specifically those of you :flash: tuned in who :flash: are 30 years of age and :flash: younger. :flash: :flash: :flash:
Since infancy the neighbor, grandma, stranger Bob, Aunt 2 Time Tammy, dad, mom, dad again, mom and dad 143 more times before dinner had a camera in your face. Sorry'bout that. I warned'em all to stop, they said "you don't know what it's like to have kids!" Fair enough. Now look.
Kids I know nothing about which are your kids by the way, have no realistic comprehension of what it means to never owning rights to a sent photo ever again until they've existed approximately three decades. That's a lot of sends. I don't think your camera up their ass the instant Doc smacked it was a good idea. Now look.
Of course they're comfortable holding a sign at chest level complete with birth name, age, family history, educational achievements including but not limited to instructor, name and address of University on their first day at social media. They've been sending dick pics since 6th grade. This next one says:
Remember cool things. Oh hell yes. I'm so over remembering shitty things. For some reason it's not out of the ordinary to need a reminder of past cool things however sometimes forgetting past shitty things is impossible like driving a car from the trunk of the car and the steering wheel's locked. And there's no engine.
Cutting forgettable conversations short will save time. Soon as someone opens their mouth that I won't remember anyway, I can stop'em before they waste their breath, 'shut up! I won't remember this.' If I set an alarm clock to be somewhere at a certain time but later on in life I can't remember being there anyway then setting the alarm clock was a waste of time. Arrive on my time.
I won't have to pretend I'm listening when I'm really not if it's a memory I'll cherish in the future, I'll just listen. Remember cool things, can't wait. Naked woman like really, really naked woman running for her life from the bad guy, covered ears, hidden in a crouched position on a yellow and gold linoleum floor under the kitchen table at age four—'forget.' The first two helicopters rides—'remember.' One more:
One more hand. I wish! Three is not a crowd when it comes to hands. I'm often too busy with the two I got I'll occasionally hurt my shoulder giving myself an atta boy. If I had a third hand whose sole responsibility was to congratulate myself, production would increase by 33%. 'Gimme a hand woulda ya.'
