We’re just finishing up for the night… er… morning. Whatever.

Actual conversation tonight…

Mike: Did you…?

(… = I have no clue because I wasn’t really listening.)

Me: Uh… no, I don’t think so.

Mike: Well, then you’re fired.

Me: Oh good. PLEASE FIRE MY ASS. Wait, wait… I wasn’t HIRED… that’s right, I was DRAFTED to this HELLHOLE/SWEATSHOP. So, please… FIRE ME. It’s not like I get paid anyway.

Mike: *some sort of grumble* (again, I’m not listening)

Me: Yeah, that’s right, I don’t get paid. I have to embezzle funds to get anything.

Mike: And it doesn’t look like you are doing that bad of a job at it either.

*blink* *blink*

Me: So, is this some sort of a commentary on the endless string of UPS trucks that stop by here?

Mike: That and other things.

Me: Well, those deliveries are all part of my investment program. I’m working on Suburban Beautification. And… guess what my next project is? That would be Offspring Improvement. Which is my technical term for “THE KIDS NEED NEW CLOTHES.”

Mike: grumble… grumble.

Me: That’s right… that’s right… just open your wallet and shut your damn mouth.

Ever wonder if Bug gets this bitchy with The Hotness?