we were down. Yes. It was DNS. we are back. We are happy again. And so we sing.
the phone rang like a small calypso band tuning up to the death trows of their drummer. The bongos and beats of teh actual ring tone were drowned out by the more fundamentally jarring rattle the phone made as it bounced around the table. I grabbed for it, pulling the sleep from my eyes and voice. I've gotten quite good at this. The second I hear someone coming in, or calling me, I can make it loko and sound as though I have been awake for hours, when in fact I've been sleeping until 2PM.
Yeeeeeeeeeello?
There was a pause, and a withered old voice came across the line. Some breathing. Then the old voice again. I knew who it was instantly. And he was masturbating. Probably on the floor of his living room, lampshade on his head, canelabra lovingly shoved into his other mouth. turned ever so slightly so that the downward swing of it was caressing his balls.
Jacob couldn't be bothered to go into work that day, but he sure as fuck could find out why Gism was down. The violent winds of this past week destroyed many connections, and resulted in a lot of disruption around the Intarweb. Yes, Gism was down.
And so it was that I was forced once again to listen to a man who's greatest accomplishment in life is having trained himself to mask the sound of his own fapping to those with whom he is communicating via telephone. He asked what I was wearing, but I wasn't going to play his silly games.
Is Jehosiphat there?
Of course not. I replied. He died in last month's potatoe famine.
I think this was wen he started spurting.
I'm back, beotch