Even every day ends the same, doesn’t it? “What do you want for dinner?” “I don’t know. What do you want for dinner?” “How about a gun in my mouth so we never have to talk about his again?”
You don’t like pets, pet people act like you’re a monster. “You don’t like pets? You’re so mean!” Really, I’m mean? I’m not the one keeping a live animal hostage in my apartment. “He loves me.” Really? Open the door.
Hard alcohol is the only thing you put in your body that actually comes with a story. It’s like, “You want some tequila?” “No dude, that last time I had that…”
Doesn’t happen with anything else. “You want some jelly beans?” “No. The last time I had jelly beans I ended up with my pants around my ankles, face down in the wall. Seriously dude, I can’t even smell the black ones. Just get ‘em out of here?”
I’m actually thinking of getting a dog. My parents actually said to me the other day, “Your little apartment? That’s a horrible, terrible place for a dog.” Yeah, but I live there. At least the dog doesn’t have to shave in the toilet like I do.