Thursday, March 17, 2005


Lately, I seem to be talking to myself a lot. I find this habit alarming.

I even find myself recapping to others the conversations I've had with myself, which is just queer, and think:

ME: Hey! We're talking to ourselves...!
SELF: No shit, Turdburglar Brain. Where'd you burgle that pea-brain from anyway, a cat? Because it's about the size of a wad of used chewing gum.
ME: Hey! Be nice to Me, Self.
SELF: Whatever you say, boss.
ME: Haven't you seen those SIMPSONS episodes where Homer threatens his brain by stabbing it with Q-tips or killing it with beer...?
SELF: Suits me.
ME: I mean, you should feel sorry for me when I can't remember shit, and have to ask you.
SELF: Well, somebody's got to remember stuff around here.
ME: Like this...?

ME: Hey...*why* are we mad at her again...?
SELF: Because of that guy we used to date.
ME: Is that the only reason? 'Cuz that's stupid.
SELF: No. She sucked a lot before that guy came along. It was just one of many reasons why we dumped her ass. We gave her lots of chances not to suck. On numerous occasions, she could have not sucked. But instead, she chose, indeed, to suck. I stand by my decision.
ME: Oh, yeah...you were right, Self!
SELF: Yeah. She was sucktastic.
ME: Thanks...!

So sometimes we get along. But mostly we argue. In fact, we have the same argument every morning:

ALARM: Bleep...!
SELF: Nooooo...!
ME: Noooooooooo...!
SELF: Get up.
ME: Noooo! Can't we call in sick?
ME: Yes!
SELF: No! Need dough!
ME: D'OH!!!
SELF: Must buy kibble. Must pay vet bills! Cats control my brain...!

And it continues, over:

ME: Huh? Why did I come here? *scratch scratch*
SELF: Don't do that in public...!
ME: Sorry. It itches. What do we need, again...?
SELF: Why don't you ever make a list?
ME: I can remember...
SELF: Yeah, right.
ME: ________. ...what do we need, again...?
SELF: Tortillas. We need tortillas.
ME: Hey...!
SELF: Now what is it?
ME: These tortillas are BROWN!
SELF: So...?
ME: We need FLOUR tortillas.
SELF: Flour is brown. What else would it be? Corn?
ME: Oh.
SELF: Moron.

And finally, in the liquor aisle...

ME: I know! Let's buy some SCOTCH!
SELF: Do you really think that's a good idea?
ME: Assballutely...!
SELF: I think this is maybe one of the reasons why you need help from me.
ME: HEY...!
SELF: I'm afraid to ask. What brilliant revelation have you had now...?
ME: It says MADE IN SCOTLAND. Scotch is from SCOTLAND...?
SELF: ...
ME: That's why they call it SCOTCH?! 'Cuz it's...uh, SCOTCH?!?
SELF: Surely you knew that. It's elementary, my dear Watson.
ME: I did not know that! Who's Watson...?
SELF: *sigh*
ME: WOW! Scotch is neat!
SELF: Oh, fuck it. What say we have some of that now? Muttering I've gotta get outta here, find myself a new body...this kid has got shit-for-brains.
ME: Cheers...!
BOTH: Aaaaaah. At last, we agree.


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