Thursday, April 23, 2009

Keep Your Eye On The Cups

This is a true event. This is a true phone call between Angie and I. She said, Steve is going to handle firing the realtor's. I begin to tell her all about how to do this, and if Steve needs help, I would be honored to do so.

First, grab one of those DVDs of Monsterquest from you know, The History Channel, flip it on, have a very brief discussion on which monster they may, or may not be looking for. ( Angie, I do not believe in RODS.)

Second, as you get them almost interested in that crap, pull out a pea. Yes, a pea. Grab the three cups from the floor. Cup 1, cup 2, cup 3. (Hold other 2 peas in pocket)

Third, just start talking. about anything. Discuss why as a little girl the color grey made you throw up. Ramble on about why the string thingy's on the end of the rug HAVE to be in order. Ask them both if they have ever thought about life after death. Now that's a good one.

During the talking, ramblings of Monsterquest in the background, move said cups, round and round, throwing in the other peas, under each separate cup. Follow? Good.

This is very important. Look them in the eye. It will freak them out, probably give them a good flashback of the first time they ever had sex with that dirty little prostitute, or with his best friend's mother's and her gin breath.

Whatever. Continue with the cups, rearranging, striking matches, have The Dark Side of The Moon playing too. ( People get freaked out around a scarecrow )

Finally, just let the cat out of the bag, we like you, but we don't like how you eat all our oreos.
The DVD is over anyway, and I ate all the peas, so, it's time to go, as you hand them their complimentary cup of fruit punch, as they walk out the door, Whitney Houston will be laying on the hood of the car, singing I Will Always Love You......

I told you. This is a true story. Any questions?
Good, I'm exhausted anyway, and I can't come out from underneath the bed for at least, 20 hours. Whitney is looking for me. Crazy bitch.

Love ya.

Mean it.

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