The part of I will be played by me, and the part of Her will be played by Old French Whore. I, and by I, I mean me, am not sure what Her real name is, but the name I gave her suits Her.
To set up the scene, I sits at a table, looking and dressing exactly like me, listening to music and writing a blog. Her, a tall girl with frizzy black hair, freckles and a tattoo on her hand, sits down across from I.
I: My music isn’t bothering you, is it?
Her: Oh, no not at all. What are you listening to?
I: David Bowie.
Her: (looking at I quizzically) Isn’t he old?
I: Yeah, but I’m listening to his earlier work.
Her: (still perplexed) Have you heard the new Coldplay?
I: I’m not really a fan of Coldplay. I hate to admit it, but their album, “A Rush of Blood to the Head” is legitimately good, but—
Her: (interrupting) What’s that?
I: “A Rush of Blood to the Head?” It was their really big album from two thou—
Her: (interrupting) I don’t know anything about that. But you need to hear their song, “Viva La Vida.”
I: Is that their newest single?
Her: Huh? Oh, I don’t know. Just listen to “Viva La Vida.” If you don’t like that song then there is something wrong with you.
I: (thinking) Noted, girl I just met at the start of this conversation. Is there any other music you can recommend to me since taking an interest in music this morning on your way to work?
(says aloud) I’ll have to check it out.
I exits the scene as if he is actually going to listen to faggy Coldplay music, when really, he goes to look for an out of life, because anything would be more desirable than listening to a Coldplay song. Yes, even a rattlesnake colonic. End scene.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
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