Who let me have a phone, anyway?

I really shouldn’t be allowed to text. Like, ever. Or at least my texts should be limited to simple yes/no responses, or things as straightforward as “how was your day?” Or “are you going to be home for dinner?” Or “did you find the baby alligator I left in your bath tub?” Errr, scratch that last one.

But for real, it’s a dangerous thing when I’m given the power of technology (take this blog for example. I bet you can’t unread half the weird shit on here even if you wanted to. Which, let’s face it, you don’t, because I’m hilarious and awesome, and you’re probably at this moment trying to figure out how you can stalk me out and meet me in person. I live in Florida, that’s all I’m going to say. If you can figure out how to find me, I’ll give you a dollar. But only if you knock when you show up at my front door. Don’t ring the doorbell, it always makes me jump. What was my point again?).

When I’m given the opportunity to speak in front of a large crowd (or a group of any size, for that matter. Except my cat. I seem to have no trouble having lengthy, intellectually-stimulating conversations with my cat, however one-sided they may be), I usually trip over my words, speak incoherently and generally talk as if my brain was having a stroke but my mouth refused to accept it. Put a computer or phone in front of me, though, and watch the fuck out. I will blow your phone up with so much random nonsense you will probably be forced to change your number. But it will totally be worth it because you’ll at least get a few laughs in before you decide to never speak to me again because, let’s face it, I AM pretty hilarious to the trained eye (for those of you with untrained eyes, or for those of you with no eyes at all, please refer to my handbook for the best ways to decipher my jokes and appreciate my sarcastic sense of humor. And by sense of humor I mean stupidity. And by handbook, I mean guidebook. And by guidebook, I mean it doesn’t actually exist, so just ask the guy next to you if he knows what the fuck I’m talking about, because I can’t explain it to you. I’m too busy writing award-winning novels that will never get published and blogging about stupid crap that’s actually incredibly important. You’ll see what I mean one day).

See, I'm fucking brilliant.

See, I’m fucking brilliant (I’m obviously the glue comment).

Okay, so you’re probably starting to get a sense of what I mean by now. Which is good, because I have no idea what I’m talking about. Oh right, texting.

This is my problem with texting. For those select few of you who actually matter to me (and I’m sorry in advance for all the terribly witty texts I’m going to send you in the future of the rest of my life), I can’t not send a lengthy text (I also can’t avoid speaking in double-negatives, apparently). Especially if I’m in an extra creative mood and you just happen to send a quick text asking what time we’re meeting for the movie tomorrow night. Because I will more than likely respond in such a convoluted fashion that you’ll regret ever being associated with me in the first place. My brain functions a lot better when I give it the proper amount of time for reflection before saying something instead of just allowing it to go spewing off in every direction the way it does when I speak. So if given the proper medium (I.e. a text or email), I’m going to take full advantage of the opportunity I’ve just been presented with. There’s a lot of brilliant stuff going on inside my head and if I’m given the chance to share it with the world (or, in most cases, the one sad sorry son of a bitch at the other end of my text message), I’m going to jump all over that shit.

Actually I'm a moron. And I ramble too much for my own good.

Actually I’m a moron. And I ramble too much for my own good.

But mostly I just like to entertain myself, and my cleverness makes me laugh to no end, so if I can ramble on for days about nothing and still think I’m fucking brilliant, then I’ve accomplished exactly what I set out to do. Because my intentions were never to actually answer your simple text message question. It’s really your own fault for being so naïve to think I would actually give you a straight answer. Because I probably never will. So I guess it sucks to be you (whoever you are. Who is this, again? And how’d you get this number?).

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