I said, “Take two,” God damn it!
So here I am, starting with take two. I guess I technically started with take one, whatever “take one” is, so this would be take two.
Editor’s Note: There is no editor.
Editor’s note 2: Take one was the stuff written directly above the words “Take two” that got edited out. Not the “Take two” with the quotations marks around it, but the “Take two” without the quotation marks around it. If it was the “Take two” with the quotation marks around it I would have wrote it like, ““Take two,””.
Third Editor’s Note: Actually I guess I’m the editor.
Editor’s Note the 4th: Now that I’ve learned of my new found editing powers this will all be edited out.
Aren’t I the silliest? My friend Christopher would argue that he’s the silliest. Oh, you don’t believe me? Here’s proof,
Chris Gonzalez @Chriswich
“I might be the silliest silly who’s ever sillied.”
I stole that from his Twitter page. Luckily he won’t press charges because I’ll give it back once I’m done borrowing it before he ever notices. But before I do, he claims to be “the silliest silly who’s ever sillied.” I just claimed (actually just asked) to be the silliest, but I didn’t specify if it was the silliest in the category of silly’s, as Christopher claims to, I just said silliest. But silliest what? Who knows. Probably human being. Or at least Quentin. I’ve got to be the silliest Quentin. There can’t be that many Quentin’s and how many of them are even silly? (Tarantino) Fuck! Have you seen Pulp Fiction? That movie is silly. Once again Quentin Tarantino has taken everything from me in the category of Quentin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s fucking my girlfriend right now (what girlfriend?) I wouldn’t be surprised if in the future I have a girlfriend (that’s already amazingly surprisingly) and Quentin Tarantino is fucking her, and not only that, but while I’m watching Reservoir Dogs – which I prefer to Pulp Fiction – in the other room. I can’t hear them because of all the gun shots and arguing over whether people should tip or not.
What the fuck am I even doing? I was supposed to be writing about my favorite day from last year. There was this girl, and we were talking, and she wanted to stop talking, ostensibly forever, but then we kept talking all night, way past when the Sun came up, although I guess it wasn’t that much after the Sun had come up, but I really liked talking to her, and her cat almost killed her, only accidentally, although the authorities are still looking into it, and that’s a joke of course, and I went to bed later that day very happy, and I was supposed to be writing about that day but instead I started describing some weird future in which Quentin Tarantino is fucking my girlfriend. Why do I always talk about my girlfriend being fucked in the future? There are countless documents in the Library of Congress (no) of me coming up with scenarios where my future girlfriend cheats on me. I think I have a problem.
I know I have many problems.