Friday, June 23, 2006

Blogging from the Moon

Or so it seems.

What should I call them? Chumps. Chumps are thugs with enough polish to haggle with me, but if I prove too resistant to charm or whining, they drop the "valued customer" veneer and try threats.

I bounce chumps.

I hate dealing with them though, because I get confused by such subterfuge, and I wonder if there wasn't something I did to make them erupt. Usually I decide it wasn't anything more than asking full price.

And also, there's the real self-disgust I feel for avoiding a physical confrontation with a chump. They don't actually do anything, beyond talk, and I get paid to keep it quiet around here, but I don't like it.

And so the chumps have me wondering whether I'm doing a good job, or if I'm cut out for it even if I do muddle through.

I was all set to blog about how much I don't like the Iraqi amnesty plan, or why we should have a go at downing the Taepodong missle, or California politics, when here come the chumps. We had only three very expensive rooms available for sale, but that was obviously a crafty ploy on my part. I offered to find them another hotel more in line with what they wanted, and that was downright rude of me...and...besides, they live down the street and know where to find me, anytime!

Hit the road, chump.

It's nearly two in the morning. My dad called me this afternoon to tell me that my grandmother did pass away; Asian commies are looking to throw missles over the Pacific; the freely elected democratic government in Iraq is looking to roll over for the insurgents; and I suppose I can sift through that on my free time, if I feel coherent enough. Right now, reality is about watching the driveway to make sure the chump and his two friends don't return. I am more angry about them than anything else, when I'm supposed to feel....what?

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