Well, those fuckers from Detroit didn't buy the elliptical trainer that we posted on Craigslist. Dicks. They came out here on Friday night, looked it over, tried it out, and then said they were coming back through town on Sunday and would give us a call. I knew, at that point, that it was a no-go. The woman was obviously the one who was going to use it -- the dude had a thick ol' skull and looked like more of a handball or telephone pole hurling type. As she was testing out the machine, she said, "Hmm... that's a really loud noise that it makes. Has it always made that noise?" I was going to say, "Oh, you mean the noise that all elliptical machines make? That kind of smooth, whirring, wheels on a track sound? That one? Or were you talking about the noise that's blasting out of your face hole that sounds a little like 'GNAAAA! GNAAAA! GNAAAAA!!!!!!'?" Instead, I said, "Yep. That's the noise it's made since the day we bought it." Then she looked at me, as if she were thinking "You, sir, are lying to me." So I tried my best to shoot back my look that says, "What the shit, lady?!" Apparently, I, instead, shot her a look that said, "Do not buy things from me."
Anyway, it looks like I cleaned the fucking basement for nothin'. Apparently, some other dude is interested in the thing, but I haven't heard from him in a couple of days. Oh Craigslist... at first you seemed so right... but now I see you for what you truly are -- a fickle e-mistress.
I can tell that the spawn are getting restless with all their pent-up holiday anticipaish. Last night, Mr. Z called out at around midnight and said his cryogenically blasted wart-balls were bothering him, so I dosed him up with a little Motrin. Poor dude. I'm sure part of it had to do with the warts, but most of it was due to the fact that he's going to get A CRAPLOAD OF FREE SHIT IN SIX DAYS. After settling him down, I went into Miss O's room to check her look. As I was adjusting her blankets, she rolled over and mumbled, I shit you not, "Looks like presents...." Oh, if only Freud were here to decipher that perplexing riddle of a dream. I guess we'll never know what horrific hallucinations she was enduring.
Well, this post is going nowhere. I wash my hands of these words. Be gone. Besides, I've gotta go watch my new favorite show, "My Boys," on TBS. And we all know what happens when I get into mildly critically acclaimed shows that nobody watches (e.g. - "Everything's Relative," "Sons and Daughters," "Austin Stories," "Freaks & Geeks," "Undeclared,"... um... "The Bonnie Hunt Show," ... uh, "Welcome to New York")?