I had another lovely interaction with a less-than-charming, potbellied pig shaped man a couple days ago. Just to give you the full effect, I attempted to draw a picture of him:
 |
| Sir Douchington of Louisville the III |
Yes, it was a 50-year-old man; not a 60-year-old pregnant woman.
I was walking to the mailbox to get our weekly, bill-filled loot and this lovely gentleman was sorting through his weekly ads.
Douchington: Hi.
Me: Hi!
Douchington: Nyyyyyneeeeyyyeehehehhe *something that I can only identify as a horse noise*
Me: Excuse me?
Douchington: Your hair is really cool.
Me: Thanks
*Pause* At this point, I thought he was just complementing me, but our riveting conversation didn't stop there.
Douchington: Like Lion King.
Me: ...
Douchington: Like a lion, you know?
Me: ...
Douchington: Cus, your hair is scary. Like, reeeeeeeeally scary.
Me: uhhhh.... Thank you?
Douchington: Can I pet it?
*Pause* Can I PET IT?????!!!???!! I am not a chia pet. I am not a puppy. I am not a fucking lion.
Me: No thanks, BYE.
Can I move to Denver yet? I'm ready.
