This is me when I’m tired

I sing Michael Jackson’s “Beat It” continuously; and then I stop.

Oh you’re doing it now too, aren’t you.

Gotcha.

You look like Paris

[On the recent physical developments of MM]

P

You know who she looks like now?

ME

No, who?

P

Paris Hilton.

ME

What?!

P

You know. An all screwed up Barbie with detachable accessories and shit.

 

Making the right choices

[At a convenience store]

She arrives in front of me, gasping in peculiar anxiety, luminescent skin, brunette hair, squeaky voice;

“Excuse me,”

She points at the box of chocolate chip cookies I have curdled under my arm,

“which one did you get?”

She speaks fast. In reality, all I hear is “Excuseme,whicjuandidjaged?” So for an instance, I am saddled in a moment of chapped confusion, unsure of what to do next. I suspect, she’s intoxicated. In curious response, I hold out the box for her.

“AH!” She declares with a smile and huge grin. “THAT’S THE RIGHT ONE!”

“I’m sorry?” I am dazed by the strangeness of her rueful laughter.

“YUP! IT’S THE RIGHT ONE!”

“Ah. Yes. Thank you.”

And I walk away. Somehow. Happy with the knowledge that at the very least, I have made one right decision in my life.

 

You look like Jesus

[On B’s newest hairdo]

KK

You know who B looks like now? Jesus Christ.

EVERYONE

Wah! It’s true! Wahaha~

B comes back

EVERYONE

HEY, JESUS!

B

FUCK YOU! proceeds to give the middle-finger to EVERYONE

EVERYONE

*speechless*

ME

…Brilliant answer, son of god.