Looks like I chose the wrong week to quit clubbing baby seals.
And now, for your theater-going pleasure, a playlette:
Sabitathica: Work is busy right now, real fucking busy. Maybe I'll tell you about it, but later, okay?, not right now. Right now let's just relax and enjoy each other's company, what do you say? What? What was that? Did you just snicker? Oh, what, is just hanging out and unwinding and enjoying each other's company too much to ask or something? Whatever, listen, don't be difficult. If you're going to give me a hassle here . . . don't make me pull this car over.
You: Sabitathica, hey are you okay? What are you talking about?
Sabitathica: I'm fine. Shut up.
You: What? What's the matter with you? You're acting weird. Is your job making you act weird? Are you cracking under the pressure of auditions? Honestly, I wouldn't blame you if you were. I don't know how you do it. I remember this one time when I saw some particularly villainous auditions bring down a fully-grown fucking Zen lumberjack before. Reduced him to fucking marmalade, they did. Ghastly to witness. And he wasn't even autistic ...
Sabitathica: Stop talking please, you're being prattish. Go away. And I'll let you know when you're allowed to read my blog again, which is probably never. I've decided I'm cleaning house. All my old readers need to go ahead and fuck off. I want new readers, better readers. From here on out, I only want good-looking, self-aware, fiscally conservative readers. Everybody else has to go away. Beginning now. Thank you.
Exeunt.
