The Brothers, by Frederick Barthelme
Wear that great smelling deodorant, I could put my face in your armpit all day.
Call me while I’m sleeping, and after I tell you that I’m sleeping, continue to jabber like a fucking monkey.
My Honda of Hollywood Service Team really loves me. All they want to do is serve me better. Does your service team love you?
Saint Etienne: Fox Base Alpha
Shan’s Dissection of MTV’s Real World
Pretend not to notice that I’ve tripped over my own foot and landed headfirst into your cubicle.
Print out something just for the specific purpose of walking behind my chair, stopping, and leaning down to smell my hair.
I wonder if she’ll notice that I’ve taken the track ball out of her mouse, and when she finally does, will she know it’s me? Will she know I secretly yearn to have her scream and slap me silly?
I’ve got deliverables coming down my pike, landing on my plate and pushing me offline, outside the scope and up to the next level.
C-A-L-L A-T-T! C-A-L-L A-T-T!
I shouldn’t have had that seventh slice of cantaloupe.