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Day Thirty-Two

Skype was interrupted by Todd last night.

Katy asked what was going on but my phone started ringing. Todd, again.

Who is it?” she said.

“Nothing, I said. “Nobody.”

Todd has started a blog— as I’ve found out via facebook. Here’s his most recent post:

Me and Charlie haven’t been getting along recently so I decided to call him from the very same phone I took an awesome picture of Kurt Fucking Angle whilst following Kurt Fucking Angle around the mall because it’s not often a wrestling superstar like Kurt Angle visits the public arena. I figured Charlie would at least be excited as a gay little boy should be.

“Who’s Kurt Angle?” he said through my holy phone.

“It’s Kurt Angle, dude—Don’t you remember? I think it was ten, twelve years ago. Rowdy the Rodman Piper threw his Olympic medals into the Hudson at Hell in the Cell XVI.”

Charlie still didn’t know what I was talking about so I followed Kurt Angle to the bathroom and then masturbated in the handicapped stall. I’m not gay—I was just really excited and I didn’t want Kurt Angle to turn around while I was following him and he see me with a boner.

Today was also the first day I tried supermarket sushi. No women approached me because supermarket sushi is kept at the front of the supermarket.

______________

Sound familiar? I didn’t even speak to Todd on the phone and now he’s making shit up about the things that we’ve said to each other. Uh, and the supermarket sushi thing? I did that first. I was the one that came up with it and wrote about it first.

Fucking hack, I can’t believe it.

And another thing: I know who Kurt Fucking Angle is. And it wasn’t Rowdy the Rodman Piper at Hell in the Cell XVI— it was Macho Man Randy Savage who did the deed.

Todd better not run into me conveniently in the next seven posts, I swear to God.

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