Picture this. We're sprawled out on our bed in the coolest part of the house to escape the early summer heat. That is the polite way of saying we were lethargic and sweaty. Oh, magical words!
Anyway. We're both quietly entertaining ourselves on our tablets and all of a sudden B flies into a rage. Full on zero to sixty, and I am blinking rapidly trying to figure out what he has discovered I've done now. I'm not going to lie...I am an ask questions later kind of woman, which means that I normally get a lot of angry phone calls once the media gets wind of my shenanigans. Because every single person I know is a fucking tattle-tale. That is beside the point.
So in among his ranting, in which he is calling me many unflattering names and frequently uses the word hypocrite, I discern that he is actually levelling a very serious charge at me.
He has accused me of cheating.
At which point my standard confused-but-understanding demeanor in these types of "What have you done?" moments is replaced by an overwhelming desire to kick his junk up into his ribcage. Cheating? Oh FUCK no.
We yell. We curse. We slam a lot of doors. There are a few angry tears. At that point, I decide enough is enough and I take a drive to calm down. When I return home I find him on my laptop with my tablet nearby and upon questioning his choice of activities (paraphrased), he tells me that he is checking my browser history. When I offer to open up my email so he can further invade my privacy, he looks at me like I'm completely nuts and tells me that would prove nothing and then reminds me that he expected this sort of thing after our wedding.
At this point I stop mid-protest and Things Are Starting To Click. This is the third time he has brought up our wedding. His dismissal of my email just doesn't make sense. And, looking back, I notice that he has always used certain terms and phrases, while avoiding others.
"Err....you don't think I am having an affair at all, do you?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Of course not. I was talking about Crazy Formula."
I present to you, dear reader, Crazy Formula.
"This is over a GAME?" The wedding comments sink in fully now as the day of our wedding was the day I finally admitted to counting cards. Surprising absolutely no one, this does nothing to mollify me. "YOU ARE THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE EVER."
"It took you two minutes to figure out the last puzzle!! I watched you! It took me SEVEN FULL DAYS to get it! You can't blame me for thinking you cheated."
"AT NO POINT DID YOU STOP AND WONDER WHY I WASN'T TYPICALLY SELF-RIGHTEOUS ABOUT BEING SMARTER THAN YOU?"
"Hey. You're not smarter than I am."
"I AM SO! I AM THE SMARTEST PERSON IN THIS ROOM AND PERHAPS THE BUILDING. PROBABLY. AND YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF."
And that is how we found ourselves arguing very loudly and at great length about the argument. Which, I'm told, is finally fucking meta.
Showing posts with label causing a scene. Show all posts
Showing posts with label causing a scene. Show all posts
Friday
Bomb birds are useless.
Want your husband to keep his filthy paws off your new iPad and not fuck with your Angry Birds momentum?
Rename it The Menstrual Pad and have loud and angry discussion in which one party makes it known that it will not deter him from using it. Grab his work Blackberry and proceed to lock yourself in the bathroom while threatening to email his peers that he has an abnormal fascination with sanitary napkins. Someone gets called a childish bitch. Stand-off ends with a swap of technology under the door.
That's a pro-tip, ladies. Also...Angry Birds is just as awesome when you are sitting on the tub ledge waiting for the other party to finish cleaning the "You suck" written in eyeliner off the screen of his mobile phone.
Rename it The Menstrual Pad and have loud and angry discussion in which one party makes it known that it will not deter him from using it. Grab his work Blackberry and proceed to lock yourself in the bathroom while threatening to email his peers that he has an abnormal fascination with sanitary napkins. Someone gets called a childish bitch. Stand-off ends with a swap of technology under the door.
That's a pro-tip, ladies. Also...Angry Birds is just as awesome when you are sitting on the tub ledge waiting for the other party to finish cleaning the "You suck" written in eyeliner off the screen of his mobile phone.
Wednesday
No Pants 2011. Day Two. Ish.
Note: Alison, do not try this at home.
"Hey, remember that song? We were in the car and it came on and I was all "This is the shittiest song I have ever heard and what the hell is it about anyway?" and you were like "This is a song about anal" and then we laughed for about five minutes solid while picturing the effort that had to go into writing a rock ballad about anal sex that actually makes it onto regular play at popular top 40 stations across North America and then we were like "Well damn, let's write a song about circle jerks because we'll definitely go platinum" and then we decided that the world had already moved past circle jerking on the radio because that is how come Nickelback gets to keep making albums and then we decided that we were going to write a song about nasophilia but then I was like "Is it too meta if we call it On The Nose?" and then we argued about what meta actually means and then you changed the station and the damn song was PLAYING ON THE OTHER STATION and we were like "This is fucking fate" and then you kept adding "about anal" to the end of each lyric? WHAT IS THE NAME OF THAT SONG? The song about anal. Do you remember?"
"*laughter blasting out of the mobile phone*"
"Hello? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER THERE?"
"That is the sound of a whole table of people hearing every word you said. Including John Salley."
"The NBA player? I'm pretty sure NBA players know what anal is and, wait, who the fuck areyou that you are hanging out with basketball players? I mean, Carrot Top? Yes. I can see you randomly hanging out with Carrot Top. But John Salley? Not a chance. I am dreaming. Or you're dreaming. One of us is dreaming and since Matthew McFadyen isn't here, it's probably your dream and I'm getting the shaft."
"Pretty sure everyone can still hear you."
"I am hanging up right now."
"Hey, remember that song? We were in the car and it came on and I was all "This is the shittiest song I have ever heard and what the hell is it about anyway?" and you were like "This is a song about anal" and then we laughed for about five minutes solid while picturing the effort that had to go into writing a rock ballad about anal sex that actually makes it onto regular play at popular top 40 stations across North America and then we were like "Well damn, let's write a song about circle jerks because we'll definitely go platinum" and then we decided that the world had already moved past circle jerking on the radio because that is how come Nickelback gets to keep making albums and then we decided that we were going to write a song about nasophilia but then I was like "Is it too meta if we call it On The Nose?" and then we argued about what meta actually means and then you changed the station and the damn song was PLAYING ON THE OTHER STATION and we were like "This is fucking fate" and then you kept adding "about anal" to the end of each lyric? WHAT IS THE NAME OF THAT SONG? The song about anal. Do you remember?"
"*laughter blasting out of the mobile phone*"
"Hello? WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER THERE?"
"That is the sound of a whole table of people hearing every word you said. Including John Salley."
"The NBA player? I'm pretty sure NBA players know what anal is and, wait, who the fuck are
"Pretty sure everyone can still hear you."
"I am hanging up right now."
Friday
Lessons in technology.
"I just had a Chocolate Thunder Brownie from Queen of Tarts. I think I'm about to leave you for a pan of brownies."
"I'm not adverse to an open marriage."
"*stunned silence* *slight coughing* *voice that is not B* So, I'll just get that project breakdown from you later then? *sound of door closing*"
"...............speakerphoned."
"There is absolutely nothing I can say at this point to him to make him understand that what he heard wasn't what he thinks he heard."
"That sound you hear is the sound of hundreds of office assistants learning that you are a sexual deviant."
"Thank you."
"Seriously though, you better be bringing home some of those fucking brownies."
"*click*"
"I'm not adverse to an open marriage."
"*stunned silence* *slight coughing* *voice that is not B* So, I'll just get that project breakdown from you later then? *sound of door closing*"
"...............speakerphoned."
"There is absolutely nothing I can say at this point to him to make him understand that what he heard wasn't what he thinks he heard."
"That sound you hear is the sound of hundreds of office assistants learning that you are a sexual deviant."
"Thank you."
"Seriously though, you better be bringing home some of those fucking brownies."
"*click*"
Monday
A great evil.
"This is it. I've been teetering on this precipice for decades and I never thought I'd cross this line. I've finally become one with my sociopathy and my inner rage. I will be hunted, I will be tortured, and I will eventually have to face justice for the evils I am about to unleash. And I'll probably write a book about it, and it will become a posthumous bestseller. Terrible acts on a scale never before conceived of. I am the love child of Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin Dada, and countless others that I don't readily have the names of handy. There can be no redemption, and I am like Darth Vader without the fucking helmet coming off scene. All shall cower in fear of the coming genocide for (*raises arms in maniacal fit/surge of unimaginable powers of the universe*) I AM SHIVA, THE DESTROYER OF WORLDS! THIS IS MY INSANE LAUGHTER. INSANE LAUGHTER! HAHA! HAHAHA! AHHHHH HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"....I'm still not cleaning the toilet for you."
"This is bullshit."
"....I'm still not cleaning the toilet for you."
"This is bullshit."
Tuesday
Hello new neighbours!
Waiting for the elevator while discussing adoption with B.
"It's not like I'm going to go out and steal the first baby that I see. I'm going to wait for a cute one.....oh hi there neighbour from across the hall. I....was just kidding. I swear. Ha. Ha. Ha. *long awkward pause while I repeatedly stab the elevator call button* Boy these elevators are just fucking with me at this point, am I right?"
"It's not like I'm going to go out and steal the first baby that I see. I'm going to wait for a cute one.....oh hi there neighbour from across the hall. I....was just kidding. I swear. Ha. Ha. Ha. *long awkward pause while I repeatedly stab the elevator call button* Boy these elevators are just fucking with me at this point, am I right?"
Thursday
Oral-B Memory Lane.
Feeling a bit under the weather, so I'm going to pull something out of the archives....
How Oral-B could better: A lesson in oral morals and needs.
I have an Oral-B toothbrush. It's one of those fancy Pulsar ones that does half the work for you, and I'm too cheap to buy a proper electric toothbrush.
The other day I was in the drugstore nearby and picking up some mail (it doubles as the local post office), when I walked through the toothbrush aisle. I marvel at the rows of toothbrushes, all able to perform the exact same function, but all marketing to people like myself....who are looking for some new and invigorating way to brush better. So I am admiring the colours and considering picking out a new one to replace my toothbrush because I am convinced I can find one to better fit my oral needs. And I spot it.
It is a toothbrush that, when you are brushing, plays music. And if you want the volume increased you have to brush harder. And my jaw drops. Because this satisfies both my inner need for dancing through every activity of the day, but also it seems as though I have been able to top the Pulsar.
B watches me grab it off the shelf and eyeballs me. He points out that they are designed for children. I scoff and hold the package that has a picture of Destiny's Child on it close to my chest. And as I'm walking to the cashier I start to worry. Will they smirk at me? Should I pick up another toothbrush and try to pass it off as a purchase for an unpresent child? B drags me to the cashier and, in a move that clearly indicates he is able to read my mind, gleefully asks the cashier if I am the only adult who has ever purchased one for herself. In that moment, I loathe his very existence.
So, naturally, my face turns bright red. And I stammer. And I say "Look. Don't judge me." And the cashier smirks. Just like I had assumed. And the grin widens on B's face. He is aware that he will pay for this transgression, but he is clearly enjoying every moment and relishing my shame. I glare at him, hand over my debit card, and look to hightail it out of the joint as fast as possible...already I am trying to determine the next nearest drugstore that I will begin to shop at instead.
We walk home while I ignore B. This is only phase one of his excommunication. The shun. He is still smirking, but has now begun to plead with me to do something other than glare. He has obviously forgotten that I am able to glare and shun for long periods of time. He can go fuck himself.
Once we actually get in the house, I rip open the package and pull out my brand new toothbrush and shove it in my mouth. The first thing I notice is that I have to crank open my jaw even more than normal in order to get my molars. It is not the most comfortable thing in the world. In fact, I begin to get slightly annoyed that most of the extra plastic was hidden within the package. I figure that 2pm is as good a time as any to brush my teeth, and layer on the toothpaste. And then I turn it on.
And like the song goes.....I'M A SURVIVOR, NOT GONNA GIVE UP.....
I learn quickly that the mixture of headjerks and toothbrush and toothpaste are not quite exactly healthy in that I am now swallowing most of my toothpaste, and what I'm not swallowing, I'm flinging across the house while attempting to show B how utterly bootylicious I am. And I am. Bootylicious.
B is unable to contain his laughter at the Sensodyne spackled walls, floor, and face (mine). I do not care. I am fucking bootylicious. I am a survivor. And I'm not gonna give up.
Well, not until the song ends. And then I go back to my trusty Oral-B. The singing toothbrush clearly fills a niche in my life, but I'm looking for a steady and hardworking toothbrush. A toothbrush that cares about me. That says to me every night "Hey, don't worry, I'll do most of the work because I, like, totally get that you are a lazy ass. And that is cool with me."
B gets to clean the walls. And I'm waiting for all those free toothbrushes to come in the mail, but they never do.
They never do.
*tear*
How Oral-B could better: A lesson in oral morals and needs.
I have an Oral-B toothbrush. It's one of those fancy Pulsar ones that does half the work for you, and I'm too cheap to buy a proper electric toothbrush.
The other day I was in the drugstore nearby and picking up some mail (it doubles as the local post office), when I walked through the toothbrush aisle. I marvel at the rows of toothbrushes, all able to perform the exact same function, but all marketing to people like myself....who are looking for some new and invigorating way to brush better. So I am admiring the colours and considering picking out a new one to replace my toothbrush because I am convinced I can find one to better fit my oral needs. And I spot it.
It is a toothbrush that, when you are brushing, plays music. And if you want the volume increased you have to brush harder. And my jaw drops. Because this satisfies both my inner need for dancing through every activity of the day, but also it seems as though I have been able to top the Pulsar.
B watches me grab it off the shelf and eyeballs me. He points out that they are designed for children. I scoff and hold the package that has a picture of Destiny's Child on it close to my chest. And as I'm walking to the cashier I start to worry. Will they smirk at me? Should I pick up another toothbrush and try to pass it off as a purchase for an unpresent child? B drags me to the cashier and, in a move that clearly indicates he is able to read my mind, gleefully asks the cashier if I am the only adult who has ever purchased one for herself. In that moment, I loathe his very existence.
So, naturally, my face turns bright red. And I stammer. And I say "Look. Don't judge me." And the cashier smirks. Just like I had assumed. And the grin widens on B's face. He is aware that he will pay for this transgression, but he is clearly enjoying every moment and relishing my shame. I glare at him, hand over my debit card, and look to hightail it out of the joint as fast as possible...already I am trying to determine the next nearest drugstore that I will begin to shop at instead.
We walk home while I ignore B. This is only phase one of his excommunication. The shun. He is still smirking, but has now begun to plead with me to do something other than glare. He has obviously forgotten that I am able to glare and shun for long periods of time. He can go fuck himself.
Once we actually get in the house, I rip open the package and pull out my brand new toothbrush and shove it in my mouth. The first thing I notice is that I have to crank open my jaw even more than normal in order to get my molars. It is not the most comfortable thing in the world. In fact, I begin to get slightly annoyed that most of the extra plastic was hidden within the package. I figure that 2pm is as good a time as any to brush my teeth, and layer on the toothpaste. And then I turn it on.
And like the song goes.....I'M A SURVIVOR, NOT GONNA GIVE UP.....
I learn quickly that the mixture of headjerks and toothbrush and toothpaste are not quite exactly healthy in that I am now swallowing most of my toothpaste, and what I'm not swallowing, I'm flinging across the house while attempting to show B how utterly bootylicious I am. And I am. Bootylicious.
B is unable to contain his laughter at the Sensodyne spackled walls, floor, and face (mine). I do not care. I am fucking bootylicious. I am a survivor. And I'm not gonna give up.
Well, not until the song ends. And then I go back to my trusty Oral-B. The singing toothbrush clearly fills a niche in my life, but I'm looking for a steady and hardworking toothbrush. A toothbrush that cares about me. That says to me every night "Hey, don't worry, I'll do most of the work because I, like, totally get that you are a lazy ass. And that is cool with me."
B gets to clean the walls. And I'm waiting for all those free toothbrushes to come in the mail, but they never do.
They never do.
*tear*
Tuesday
Customs.
Today my husband is in another country. And it has nothing to do with me, apparently (I am aware that they say that the world doesn't revolve around me, but I think the science is bunk).
I am going to miss him even though I know that the only reason he and I are married is that he drew the short straw against the rest of humanity and now it is his sole responsibility to ensure I don't wreak my particular brand of havoc on the population. The last time he went out of town he left me little notes in various places around the house that said things like "I've dismantled your nanobots so stop looking for them" and "I've wired this place to blow if you even think about continuing your research into ninja-cats". He takes his job pretty seriously, I guess, and worries about me when he's gone. Like I'm some sort of chump.
Wait...who is the chump here? I AM NOT A CHUMP, MISTER, SO TAKE THAT BACK AND SOMETHING ABOUT RIDING A HORSE.
And that is the conversation I had in my head when I decided that tucking a post-it note into his passport demanding a tributary gift but specifically "No STD's, I have to draw the line somewhere" would be hilarious. Especially since he wouldn't see it....but the lovely people at US customs would.
And they did. They still let him in the country though (after embarrassing him, which is pure icing on the cake), so clearly I have to try harder next time.
I am going to miss him even though I know that the only reason he and I are married is that he drew the short straw against the rest of humanity and now it is his sole responsibility to ensure I don't wreak my particular brand of havoc on the population. The last time he went out of town he left me little notes in various places around the house that said things like "I've dismantled your nanobots so stop looking for them" and "I've wired this place to blow if you even think about continuing your research into ninja-cats". He takes his job pretty seriously, I guess, and worries about me when he's gone. Like I'm some sort of chump.
Wait...who is the chump here? I AM NOT A CHUMP, MISTER, SO TAKE THAT BACK AND SOMETHING ABOUT RIDING A HORSE.
And that is the conversation I had in my head when I decided that tucking a post-it note into his passport demanding a tributary gift but specifically "No STD's, I have to draw the line somewhere" would be hilarious. Especially since he wouldn't see it....but the lovely people at US customs would.
And they did. They still let him in the country though (after embarrassing him, which is pure icing on the cake), so clearly I have to try harder next time.
Monday
Choosing Words.
Lesson learned.
It is probably not a good idea to complain loudly to your wife about some bratty child walking in front of the camera repeatedly when he and his parents are within earshot.
It is definitely not good when the words you choose to use to complain about said bratty child are "I'm exposing here!"
It is probably not a good idea to complain loudly to your wife about some bratty child walking in front of the camera repeatedly when he and his parents are within earshot.
It is definitely not good when the words you choose to use to complain about said bratty child are "I'm exposing here!"
Yes We Can.
B and I spent the day yesterday at this awesome antique mall we drop by every few months. I wound up leaving behind the greatest. find. ever. We debated it loudly and passionately, much to the chagrin of many other patrons who just wanted to browse old comics in peace. They were just jealous.
Number of times you will see can in a day.
Divided by number of times you will giggle out loud.
Multiplied by number of times you will say "Why yes, yes I do" to yourself.
To the power of number of times you will annoy your husband by pointing to it and snickering.
If the answer is greater than the cost of the tin, "put it back on the fucking shelf, Angel".
Number of times you will see can in a day.
Divided by number of times you will giggle out loud.
Multiplied by number of times you will say "Why yes, yes I do" to yourself.
To the power of number of times you will annoy your husband by pointing to it and snickering.
If the answer is greater than the cost of the tin, "put it back on the fucking shelf, Angel".
Sunday
Shelley.
As I mentioned on my twitter feed, I was playing with the bison over the weekend here. I looooooove the bison. There is something noble and totally kick-ass about being a bison and having no serious predators. They are more dangerous than grizzly bears, fool! I discovered, through my ability to google shit, that bison killed and/or injured more people in Yellowstone than bears between some year and some other year. FIVE TIMES MORE! Suck it, Colbert.
Except the last time we were out here, not two weeks ago, we were chased by a bear. Well, less chased and more "heard it growl from about twenty feet away and, contrary to every single piece of meet-a-bear literature we have ever read, ran like eight year old girls yelling our heads off while reciting our wills aloud to one another". Guess what I learned? I can beat B in a footrace AND I'm apparently not getting his x-box when he bites it. Or a bear bites him. There are some things I'm just not willing to let him win on, and taking one for the team with a bear tops that list. I don't fucking care if that makes me a bad wife. I have a strict code about that and toenail growth.
So anyway. Bear last time. Bison this time.
I should tell you first. I have a stuffed bison at home named Shelley. I don't know why I started calling him Shelley (of course he is a boy, don't you know anything about bison?), but it fits perfectly. He will be named whatever he wants because no one will question his name without running into the batshit crazy side of the bison personality. Which is why, I'm .99% certain, they are docile for the most part. Hunted to near extinction because our ancestors wouldn't shut up about their non-gender-neutral names.
So we're headed out to the park and per normal B and I are having outrageous conversations about inane things (marriage building blocks) (foundation = mutual love of cheese). We get to the park entrance only to discover that the little machine entrance thing wants us to pay $7.80 to cross the invisible regular place-magic park barrier. And I'm livid because THAT IS HOW MUCH IT COSTS TO GET INTO BANFF AND THIS PLACE IS NO BANFF! IT IS A STUPID PROVINCIAL PARK AND HAS NO BUSINESS CHARGING THIS MUCH.
"*rantrantrantrant*"
".....Are you done?"
"That is all I have to say about that."
"It's a national park."
"NO IT IS NOT."
"It says so right on the machine. And the ticket. And the sign. And the NAME."
".....*insert about two minutes of silence*....well, it must be a typo."
"*martyred sigh*"
About five minutes after that?
I stared into that bison's soul and you know what I found?
He thinks $7.80 is a great deal. And I'd better drive the hell faster or he will roll my car. Done and done, Mr. Shelley. Done and...OMG B, THERE IS A BEAVER DEN SLOWDOWNSLOWDOWNSLOWDOWN.
Except the last time we were out here, not two weeks ago, we were chased by a bear. Well, less chased and more "heard it growl from about twenty feet away and, contrary to every single piece of meet-a-bear literature we have ever read, ran like eight year old girls yelling our heads off while reciting our wills aloud to one another". Guess what I learned? I can beat B in a footrace AND I'm apparently not getting his x-box when he bites it. Or a bear bites him. There are some things I'm just not willing to let him win on, and taking one for the team with a bear tops that list. I don't fucking care if that makes me a bad wife. I have a strict code about that and toenail growth.
So anyway. Bear last time. Bison this time.
I should tell you first. I have a stuffed bison at home named Shelley. I don't know why I started calling him Shelley (of course he is a boy, don't you know anything about bison?), but it fits perfectly. He will be named whatever he wants because no one will question his name without running into the batshit crazy side of the bison personality. Which is why, I'm .99% certain, they are docile for the most part. Hunted to near extinction because our ancestors wouldn't shut up about their non-gender-neutral names.
So we're headed out to the park and per normal B and I are having outrageous conversations about inane things (marriage building blocks) (foundation = mutual love of cheese). We get to the park entrance only to discover that the little machine entrance thing wants us to pay $7.80 to cross the invisible regular place-magic park barrier. And I'm livid because THAT IS HOW MUCH IT COSTS TO GET INTO BANFF AND THIS PLACE IS NO BANFF! IT IS A STUPID PROVINCIAL PARK AND HAS NO BUSINESS CHARGING THIS MUCH.
"*rantrantrantrant*"
".....Are you done?"
"That is all I have to say about that."
"It's a national park."
"NO IT IS NOT."
"It says so right on the machine. And the ticket. And the sign. And the NAME."
".....*insert about two minutes of silence*....well, it must be a typo."
"*martyred sigh*"
About five minutes after that?
I stared into that bison's soul and you know what I found?
He thinks $7.80 is a great deal. And I'd better drive the hell faster or he will roll my car. Done and done, Mr. Shelley. Done and...OMG B, THERE IS A BEAVER DEN SLOWDOWNSLOWDOWNSLOWDOWN.
Tuesday
What movie?
"Want to watch a movie together when I get home?"
"Which movie would that be, B?"
"The one I downloaded yesterday."
"Which one was that again?"
"THE movie."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"....seventeenagain."
"What the hell did you just say? The jackhammers are going."
"SeventeenAgain."
"Huh?"
"SEVENTEEN AGAIN!!! (loud laughter from people in his office) ....I hate you."
Then he hung up on me.
"Which movie would that be, B?"
"The one I downloaded yesterday."
"Which one was that again?"
"THE movie."
"I have no idea what you are talking about."
"....seventeenagain."
"What the hell did you just say? The jackhammers are going."
"SeventeenAgain."
"Huh?"
"SEVENTEEN AGAIN!!! (loud laughter from people in his office) ....I hate you."
Then he hung up on me.
Saturday
Car Beer.
"You hanging out the window yelling CHUG CHUG CHUG while I am refilling the windshield washer fluid at a busy gas station is not something I ever want to experience again."
Wednesday
Buckleys
"OH MY GOD I AM DYING!"
"Shut up and just drink it without the show, Angel."
"I AM DYING! IT HIT MY TONGUE."
"Enough already. Just swallow it."
"YOU SHALL RUE THE DAY, THIS STUFF IS KILLING ME."
"Next bottle is Buckleys."
"OHMYGODTHEHORR....oh. Okay. I'm cool."
"Shut up and just drink it without the show, Angel."
"I AM DYING! IT HIT MY TONGUE."
"Enough already. Just swallow it."
"YOU SHALL RUE THE DAY, THIS STUFF IS KILLING ME."
"Next bottle is Buckleys."
"OHMYGODTHEHORR....oh. Okay. I'm cool."
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