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How ******** special.
I really wanted to go out tonight.
Like reallllllly bad.
But noooo.
'The keys are in Missoula!' I'm told.
'He left at eight, I couldn't get them!" I'm told.
Read between the lines with me for a sec.
The guy who has the keys to gamesite said DAYS ago he'd probably work at the Racetrack today.
Doesn't that seem like a giant ******** hint to get the damn keys?
It should have, as it would have had I been thinking.
I should have realized 'non-game night' was code for 'I'm gonna BS my way outta this.'
After all, it wouldn't be the first time I'd heard it.
Now I'm all dressed up for no apparent reason, as I'm STUCK AT HOME YET ********]
I'm very sure the little s**t did this purposely.
Now I have nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to see.
Pretty much like Sun-Fri.
Hey Thumb, if you read this, how 'bout you do me a large ******** favor and LET ME KNOW when you're going to cancel game.
Don't even try to say something along the lines of 'I forgot' or 'There were extenuating circumstances' because we both know that's bullshit.
You're smarter than that, or rather, more conniving and devious than that.
I'm shaking angry right now.
Its ******** special.