Me to Dad: I can feel 3 months of my life slip away every time I talk to your blithering idiot of a brother.

 

I kid you not, one day I might abruptly drop dead on the phone because the life quota is maxed out.

He calls and he begins the conversation exactly like this:

Idiot: The…Reebok logo, 6.3mm.

Me: So small?  6.3mm?   mm or cm?

Idiot: Errr wait…cm. 6.3cm.

Me: Uh huh?

Idiot: Ya.

Me: …And then, what??

Idiot:  The Reebok text logo. 6.3cm.

Me: …

Me: SO WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT WITH THE LOGO??  Am I supposed to quote a price or develop a new print, or what??  Or do you want me to bring the film when I go over tmr???

Idiot: I need to print it, but no film.

Me: THEN SAY SO RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING!!!!!!

Could anyone blame me for losing my patience?  And this is just one of those exasperating WTFFFFFFFFFF moments that he puts me through.

Nevermind if you don’t know the difference between millimetres and centimetres.  But if I were really that good a mind-reader, I would be rich and famous and not here trying to decipher your ridiculous bullshit.  Plus I’m not really that interested in reading your mind because I might catch a disease.

But why don’t you try reading my mind for a start?   I hope you can read how much I detest you and your friggin’ stupid ways.  Asshole.

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