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…Get out the Lighter Fluid and the Matches Anyway, ’cause We’re Having a Bra BONFIRE!

May 7, 2014

So last time around, I hinted that I was using the tale of Big Spender (the guy spent a whole $55 on a 5 x 10 room frequented by married couples [married to other people, that is], folks!!! Big round of applause!!!!) as a prelude to delving deep into my own navel to discuss my real reason for taking a leave of absence from NT,NA: another dude with bigger issues, though not as big a budget.

I envisioned Big Spender’s story as being like The Hobbit to this other dude’s Lord of the Rings trilogy. But because I believe wholeheartedly in my equally illustrious, equally Jewish BestBroForLife (he’s not dead, he’s just on another plane of existence in my mind) Albert Einstein’s proposal that the only two things that are infinite are the universe and human stupidity, and we can’t be that sure about the universe.

Which is to say that Big Spender is getting the Hollywood treatment he so deeply desires and being stretched out into (at least!) two parts where one would have sufficed, while his successor’s saga is now expanding to A Song of Ice and Fire proportions. This is because I can quantifiably prove that, just like the universe, human stupidity is as well, or at least if these two douche-bros are anything to go by.

When I left off last time, Big Spender, who shall henceforth be termed BS, was calling me intermittently for reasons I had yet to ascertain. Early this week, exhausted after driving for two days on sticky Southern pavement, I saw that I had missed a call from him for about the tenth time. And for the second time, I’d had enough.

I sent him a text politely outlining that I no longer wished to hear from him, as I thought I’d already made clear. And by “politely,” I mean that I may have referred to him as a “stupid piece of shit” and an “ugly…slut” in all caps.

“Just trying to keep things professional,” he sniffed, the butthurt oozing through the lines from 2000 miles away. Apparently he’d been calling because he had a gig for me, presumably the one I originally met him to discuss.

Work is great. Work in a field you enjoy and are qualified for is even greater. Work in a field you enjoy & c. but with a boss who can’t seem to see past his boner sucks even harder than he wishes you would on the aforementioned boner.

“You had two months to keep it professional. You failed. Good luck with your future endeavors,” I shot back, assuming that would be the end of it.

We all know what happens when you assume, only I wasn’t getting any ass out of it. He still thought he was, however. “You have little faith in me. Seriously I’m done with the BS[sic][also the acronym, not the proper noun]”

“You’ve given me no reason to have faith in you,” I typed as I tried to ignore the grinding of my own teeth. “I take it this means you’ll finally be leaving me alone.”

Frankly, I’m suprised I still have teeth, or gums, or a jawbone left. Because I immediately heard back: “Not necessarily, I may have phrased that wrong. Answer my call…Listen seriously, I’ve put all of that stuff behind. I’m legitimately calling you neutral[sic][also, WTF?]”

And he did. And so he has done. And so he will continue to wander the woods with his cell phone in hand until the twilight of the Earth…or perhaps I’m confusing him with Arwen Evenstar, who doesn’t even appear until the next analogous saga, so fuck BS anyway.

Because frankly, I have enough drama to deal with right now, drama that I specifically and explicitly stated I want no part of. And I don’t mean the kind brought to life under the pointed but tender care of Peter Jackson and the presences of Elijah Wood, Viggo Mortensen, and Sean Bean (may I say, that man is deadly to his characters!). More like the kind fomented in high school by that one smarmy-looking weasel with the bad attitude who nevertheless managed to act as flypaper for the opposite sex.

But more on that in good time. I need to see if I can commission Enya to write an original piece for the soundtrack.

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