So alienated from & bored by the species that makes this planet the hell-hole it is, we decided to lie down for a nap. No sooner had consciousness faded than the fucking mobile rang.
Stipulated: No reason in the entire dull world of alienating weirdos to have had it on, you're right, our fault, but c'mon, it was a call from somewhere in 702 (Las Vegas). Meaning a wrong number. No one we know. We're still weighing printing the number, if any Amy Alkon types would like to give the caller a piece of our mind for us.
Now that we've been forced into what passes for consciousness around here, we may waste some time & electricity w/ the new firmware that appeared in the DVR today. Most "exciting" is a folder option in the list of crap that's sitting in the hard drive. (Result: Less clicking when trying to decide which movie not to watch.)
At this point we can't determine which is sillier: being so jaded, or pretending we give a fuck. Certainly the latter is pretty transparent, but there's no way it can be proved we aren't jaded beyond all human possibility.
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