RocketBar

Last night a telemarketer called up the old 4028 and started trying to sell me new roofing. If I was one of the lucky chosen first 25 customers. She sounded depressed. I asked her how she was feeling and she kept reading the script. I asked her how she was feeling again and this time I gave it a roofing tinge. "Is the rain starting to pressure your vortex of E?.” Still no bite. I was intent on getting my swerve on last night so I asked her if this is what she thought it would be like. She told me she hadn’t thought about it yet, as she was only 15. Her words washed over my thoughts like pixie dust and I asked her if she’s ever been to the roof. She went on and on about her ex boyfriend and how he is breaking her heart nightly. Toucan Sam. What kind of fucking name is that? Anyways, so she is going on and on about toucan Sam and this is where the story gets fucked up. I have never really had even a second hand encounter with bestiality. So imagine my surprise when this telemarketer starts telling me that this "Toucan Sam" is actually an animated tropical bird who follows the scent of some fucking breakfast cereal from South America to the breakfast table in Gary, IN. and this Sam was not good to her. I could give you specifics but it might be incriminating and process is the least of my desires right now. In fact I believe I’ve lost all my desires. Last night I was told what passion can do and it scares me. So let me finish. She’s basically crying to me like I was her gay brother or something and once in a while her supervisor would walk by at which point she would snap right back into the routine. By the third time she faux-snickered to the manager "tuff sell". We carried on for 17 minutes (according to my digital display) and I realized that I was no longer curious, that I had heard enough. I lied to her; told her I smoked. Then I lied again; told her I was going to go meet my probation officer for a smoke. She asked if I was checking in and I lied again! I tell you this to communicate the trauma. I tell her that, well, actually he used to be my probation officer but we just ended up friends. I told her I could give her some details and after I released three she said "like Diane?" and I was getting all flustered so I took to the custom made terminate button on my wireless.

Hanging up the phone, I noticed that the John Hughes movie I had been watching had gotten to the moral already. I tried to justify it by thinking I had learnt something else that night. Along the lines of /young girls like tropical birds/ but it just didn’t seem as timeless. I imagined trying to tell my friend Jim Sandlak about it but was repelled by visions of "house" brushing me away for my lack. He never said of what. LACK LACK LACK. Fucking house gets drafted in the first round and thinks he's hot shit. He’s not hot shit. I have my world. Sure I don't get to shave Brett Hull's hairy back but I did get the setlist from the last Eric’s Trip concert. Of course don't ask Julie about it... she was so pissed at me she threatened to "make a bile refuse out of my esophagus". Science geeks are all the same.