Telemarketer From Hell
November 17th 2006 16:51
Okay. So picture this, right? It's Saturday and it's 8:56 in the a.m. and that last triple vodka shot you had is still oozing out of your nose. Your eyes are so bloodshot you piss magenta. The aftertaste of your vomit lingers like curd in your mouth: right along the walls of your mouth and the sides of your tongue. And you can practically smell your hangover. It reeks of last month's egg salad.
Then, the phone goes and rings. You ignore it, not because you're certain it will go away, but because you're so tanked you don't even hear it at first. When you eventually do, you don't even know if it's really the phone that's ringing or if it's just that ridiculous techno number you heard in the club that's stuck in your head looping over and over. Irregardless, it's the phone. Believe me. And it doesn't go away. It just keeps going on and on and on. It's suppose to have stopped by now, surely, but it doesn't
[ Click here to read more ]
Then, the phone goes and rings. You ignore it, not because you're certain it will go away, but because you're so tanked you don't even hear it at first. When you eventually do, you don't even know if it's really the phone that's ringing or if it's just that ridiculous techno number you heard in the club that's stuck in your head looping over and over. Irregardless, it's the phone. Believe me. And it doesn't go away. It just keeps going on and on and on. It's suppose to have stopped by now, surely, but it doesn't
| 42 |
| Vote |
Read More
Comments (4)
Add Comments
