So it’s dinner with Katy tonight. First time seeing each other since she got back. She’s planned dinner for 7pm tonight and welcomed me over at 6:30pm. The text:
Katy: Dinner’s at 7, so get here thirty minutes ahead of time. thx
And practically nothing else. So mysterious— but that just means she’s probably going to do something special for me. Maybe give me a blowjob while her parents are home or something.
Going to do my best not to bring up anything involving Morgan. I mean, it shouldn’t be hard to not say “Hey, I cheated on you,” but then again, I’m Charlie Brown; I make the easiest things in the world hard— sobriety notwithstanding.
I’m excited, though. Anxious, yes, but extremely excited. After all, I haven’t seen Katy in, oh I don’t know, 41 days. And she was supposed be gone for 90 but apparently Argentina has become so unsafe for such a hot young thing like her to hang ‘round that she got an early ticket back to these here United States.
Dinner’s going to be at her place. She told me we’re having steak— steak, I can’t believe it. I mean, we’re probably not having nine steaks like Chaz did for me on Mexican Mother’s Day…but what can I expect?
You know what I can expect? A gift from Argentina. I’ve been looking forward to this for quite a while now. I wonder what she got me. Hopefully some black market boner pills— not that I need them or anything; it would just be fun to take a few boner pills and call in a sick day at work because of my untamed erection. Like I said, I like making things hard.
Speaking of the office: you may be wondering what happened to Susan. Honestly, she hasn’t shown up to work since the incident where she tried to practically rape me. And I think this is an OK time to say that she practically raped me. Or tried raping me. Not that Katy is going to ever hear about that.
I’ll tell her about Phil, though. She deserves to know my involvement in his death, even though my involvement was, at best, minimal.
God, I wish Phil was still alive, though. I could have sold him some of the boner pills and then maybe he would have died from those instead of my last bottle of Robitussen. The man could have died of a hard dick instead of being surrounded by hundreds of plastic ones. That would have been the respectable way to go, Phil— God rest your filthy soul.
Man, I can’t wait to see her breasts again, too. May not be able to see them tonight but there’s always tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that day, too. And my phone, too— I forgot I have a picture of her tits somewhere on there. Lemme— just give me a second.
Yep. Still good.