Call Her
No.
Call her, bitch.
No.
Why?
Because I don’t want to hear it.
Maybe you should hear it.
Bitch, please.
Pot. Kettle.
Got me in check, there. Can I castle in check?
We both know you know way more than any cool person should about that game.
True. But I am a badass nerd.
Forgive me for not believing that just now. Call her.
No.
Any good reasons?
Because this works better.
Better than first aid and female company?
Absolutely.
Scotch in the glass and a bag of frozen broccoli on your knee is better that that?
Say that back to yourself, dumbass.
Oh. Yeah.
May 14, 2009 at 12:55 am
When men talk to their egos…
May 14, 2009 at 11:07 am
You know, Ms. Cléa, you shouldn’t trust one that won’t admit to it.
May 14, 2009 at 8:47 pm
This sounds vaguely familiar.
May 14, 2009 at 9:09 pm
To be honest, I count on it.
May 14, 2009 at 9:15 pm
EM: It should. I think I wrote this minutes before we talked.
Cléa: Do women have some floating voice in their head, too?
May 17, 2009 at 5:24 pm
I have them, though most of the time, they’re character voices. But yes, I talk to myself at times. And answer back. It keeps me sane and makes me laugh at the same time.
May 19, 2009 at 6:44 pm
I remember a guy talking about writing excercies where you describe one thing or another to someone you have to imagine. I used to try and explain naval aerial warfare to the John Paul Jones in my head. It was always fascinating to create a character and then do something like acting in that character.
Hard to explain, but you probably get it.