I can bake cookies...

I am a stand up comic. Although I have been performing stand up since June of 2005, it wasn't until three years ago that I finally felt comfortable labeling myself as a comedian. Whenever anyone would discover that I was somewhat associated with comedy, I would never really know how to answer their questions. I still refuse to call myself a professional comedian, given that I am not paying bills with money earned from performances. It is a dream and hobby that I enjoy and wish to pursue. Stand up comedy has provided some of my fondest memories and has helped me grow into the person that I am today. The experience is absolutely priceless, and I wish for everyone to experience how wonderful the feeling truly is. With hard work, I feel that anyone can become a comic.

Given that, I have been involved with the "comedy scene" for a while now and have heard/read multiple people rant and rave their different opinions about "what it takes to be a stand up comic" or whatever the fuck. I am annoyed and fed up with how people, who will remain unidentified, view comedy and often times, abuse it. Yes, it is just a matter of difference in opinions, but I have done close to one thousand shows over my six years of participation and have seen just about every type of comedy enthusiast. Here are some scenarios that bother me:

Scenario 1: You are the funniest person at work/in your group of friends.
Response: Cool, dude. That's rad, but it does not make you a comic.

Scenario 2: You are an actor and feel that comedy comes second nature.
Response: Go to hell. All you want is more stage time and you are an asshole.

Scenario 3: You have a midlife crisis and feel that stand up comedy will reinvent you.
Response: Jesus Christ, bro.

Understandably, I sound like a total asshole, but comedy, let alone the entertainment industry, is a difficult field of business to get involved with and succeed no matter where you are geographically. As it is currently, the Arizona "comedy scene" still is not big enough to spark a career into super stardom. It may pay bills, but unless you move somewhere else, you will remain in Arizona constantly looking over the fence admiring the grass. Do not misconceive my message; there are several people in Arizona with outstanding talent. I just want people to include rationality when hyping themselves over their comedy dream/hobby. I will be the first to admit that I am still incredibly far from achieving "professional" comic status, and accept comedy as a hobby at this point in time. My job is where I go to work, where they eventually pay me, above minimum wage, for my services. Comedy is a hobby that I like to partake in whenever I can. I want to be a professional stand up comedian, but that will be further down the road, if at all. I encourage everyone and anyone to follow their heart's desires pertaining to comedy, but please, call it like you see it.

I take comedy very seriously. I, like most the people I know, have a deep passion for it and become frustrated whenever someone treats comedy as an easy solution. I can bake cookies, but it doesn't make me a god damned baker. Anyone can tell a joke, but if you are not paying bills with your comedy, you are not a professional comedian.

Comedy may be something different to you than it is to me, and I accept that people may consider me an egotistical douchebag for my opinions. That is fine. I guess I just need to stop reading other comedy enthusiasts' blogs and getting pissed off. Comedy is like any other hobby: there will always be someone else who takes it way more seriously than you do, and will never see you as an equal. Get used to it.

Confessions From the Downstairs Couch

Episode 1: Return to Tempe

Since I have been unemployed, I have spent the majority of my time in my parent's basement slowly going insane. There is nothing to do in Gilbert but hate yourself for living in Gilbert. At least we don't pretend we are better than what we actually are like Chandler. Grow up, Chandler.

I apply to nearly 50 jobs a day. When I get a call for an interview, not only am I surprised but curious to what I am interviewing for. Mostly, I am just happy to have an excuse to leave the house, but I made the mistake of not researching the company prior to leaving the house and shaving my beard off. I entered the company's name into Google and saw that the second search result was a posting on a forum asking if this company was a scam, ultimately leading to many horror stories of how this company is a poorly ran pyramid scheme. Now I look fucking creepy for no damn reason. Thanks, bro.

But not everything is bad news. Amidst loitering in the magazine aisle of a Safeway, a voice come over the intercom that offered, "Anybody who can correctly answer the trivia question will win a free bag of groceries. The question is: Who'e ear did Mike Tyson bite off in a 1996 boxing match?" Pursuing this endeavor tickled my fancy at first, given that everyone knows that the answer is Evander Holyfield. That was until I had raised my eyes from the latest Sports Illustrated to witness a rather large lady (approximately 20 years of age) in full sprint down the aisle, yelling "EVANDER HOLYFIELD! YO! EVANDER HOLYFIELD!" Two thoughts came through my mind at that moment:

1) I should get out of her way.

2) Although I am 97% positive that I could run faster than her, there was no way I could beat her for the prize, let alone the rest of the other potential fatties flocking to the front of the store that I had not accounted for yet.

It all happened so fast, that by the time I had finally accepted what just happened, she was returning down the aisle panting. She began to shout, "I heard y'all laughin' at me from accross tha store. Y'all aaaaaassholes." At first I thought she was talking about me, but with a quick glance down the other side of the aisle, I saw her thick friends surrounding a cart filled with twelve packs of cola laughing.

Lesson Learned: Do research first, shave second.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

I have three shows scheduled this upcoming weekend.

First, I am hosting "The Dopest Show", a pot themed comedy show being held at the Comedy Spot, on Thursday night. "The Dopest Show" has been running for over five years, been taken across the nation, and an impressive alumni list. I am gracious for the opportunity and looking forward to potential performing possibilities in the future, but there is one underlying problem: I am not a fan of themed comedy. To me, a good comic will make a joke about anything and everything. Pot, or being under the influence of it, is not hilarious to me, nor are the antics (with a few exceptions) that follow consumption. I know that I will be professional and do my job well, but I guess I am just not looking forward to jokes about how high person A is all night. Hopefully, I am proven wrong and find some really awesome comics. To be ironic, my set will consist of no pot related humor whatsoever. Already, I feel that that is the funniest thing I am going to experience all night.

The man who had booked me to host the show created a private group via the fb for everyone performing on the show. Recently, he added this statement:

"Let's Hope for the best, but Honestly, if AZ does'nt want this show, then Fuck 'em! The ball is in your court AZ!"

Now, I understand that I am being lame, douche bag English Major Guy, but this is pretty putrid. Random capitalization? I hate fb and everyone who thinks it is acceptable to not incorporate grammar because they feel that the internet is an excuse for illiteracy. TYPE THE WAY YOU WISH TO BE RESPRESENTED, ASSHOLE. If you want to disregard simple ideas, such as sentence structure, then I am going to think that you are a huge moron and would have difficulty with a fifth grade English exam. Go ahead and read Twilight and feel accomplished, you fuck.

Saturday night, I am opening at the Comedy Spot with Trevor for Bruce Jingles. Given that Trevor and I have Saturday off of work, it is going to be a great day. Maybe we will hit up the driving range and speak in well crafted verse. Needless to say, I am not worried about it.

Sunday night, I will be performing on the Tempe Improv's "10 for 10" show, which will consist of ten comics doing ten minutes each. Unfortunately, my set has to be absolutely clean. I am pretty positive that I will be able to do this, yet I fear that I will go into auto-pilot and just let loose. Hopefully, I refrain from pissing off the super Christian owner and am asked back. It would also be awesome if he decided to give me five hundred dollars cash.

So, we will see.

I lost my sun glasses today.

My sun glasses hung on the collar of my t-shirt while I dumped hard in a Starbuck's bathroom. Slightly leaning forward to wipe, my sunglasses fell from my neck and landed on my boxers, bouncing them between my legs and into the dump filled toilet bowl. There is no amount of rubbing alcohol that will clean away the memory of seeing my glasses float in shit and piss. God damnit, that is another 10-15 dollars that I have to spend.

Ball in the Family

Ball in the Family from The Yoked Control on Vimeo.

Thanksgiving

Happy "Let's pretend that we were actually friends with the Native Americans" Day!

I think this is my best poem.

The prompt was about being stuck in an elevator by yourself.


Sorry I was late

All I wanted was a bag of Funyuns
and the fourth floor vending machine

to have some. Onion flavored rings
will solve everything.

I’ve been staring at “L” for 23 minutes
now contemplating what I have done

paralyzed with how dumb
this excuse sounds.

Shouting for help does nothing,
but make me feel like I’ve tried

everything. Nothing. No help.
“In case of fire or Funyuns, use the stairs.”

I once saw a Youtube clip of a man
trapped in an elevator for 41 hours.

Man,
fuck.

Cell phone at the desk
I am unvoiced.

I check my watch as if it could
shoot a laser to carve myself an escape.

The reflection forces me to stare at the face
of my reckless decision.

I am a fish whose owner went on vacation
and may possibly never come back.

I could be here for a while.
All I wanted was a bag of Funyuns.

Another Poem.

This poem had to be about a relative.


The Worst Thanksgiving Ever

No matter how hard I try, I will never forget
those bulky glasses that magnified that vacant stare,
or the way he filled a room
horizontally and vertically.
Whenever he breaches his lips,
Hammond, Indiana, can be heard.

He constantly reminded everyone of
his post office adventures
by dressing the part
every
single
day.
Short short short blue shorts,
his ill-fitting hat that hid
his bald head,
and the shirt that held his fat
like a dam moments
before it bursts.

I never understood his fascinations with Iguanas
nor the need for him to let them crawl
beneath his shirt
inside McDonalds.
My burger was nicely
complimented with stares.

Still a child, I was relieved
when he justified himself
with the simple excuse
“I’m homosexual, Brian.”

“That’s great, Uncle Jim,
I thought you were fucking crazy.”

Late Poem Updates.

This was prompt number 2. The poem had to be about a specific item.


“Bro-Truck”

Bros pack the cab
slamming Monsters
over-hyping keggers.
Brah, that sloot was slammin’.
High fives dispensed
like breath mints
over the weekend’s box score.
Jack Johnson battles Dave Matthews
for bro-supremacy
supplying the voice
for all their emotions.

The bed, a cattle cart
chauffeuring bros to their
bro-destinations
while soliciting promises to shorties
of, like, a good time, you know?
Hormones inflate faster than
their raging biceps
as they lounge, lifted
above everyone.

Sick rims, dudebrah. Metal Mulisha and shit.

A truck infested with such
athleticism, charm, promise
screeches
into Dream Palace.

My First Assignment in My Poetry Class

Rich Kids Playing War
By Brian Rhoads


I spent last week crawling in Afghanistan
amidst air conditioning, walls decorated
with images of plentiful Thanksgiving dinners
and too many pillows and Cheez itz.
I heard a little boy’s voice,
Innocent, naïve, non-comprehendible.
Could not have been older than 8;
a child has no purpose with war whatsoever.
Fourteen year olds shout curse words
and sing their tone deaf melodies
because their parents are asleep
on the other side of the house.
The young child cries hate
while his father defends
that his boy is in training for his forcible future.
If only he knew
that that is what is wrong with the world.
Oh, the lessons taught by Xbox.



I will post my teacher's/classmate's feedback. Post yours, friends!

R33F3R M@DN355

Before 7 am today, I had been asked for r33f3r twice.

First Occurance (6:35 am): Upon boarding the lightrail, a kid who appeared to be fifteen made eye contact with me and motioned for me to take off my headphones. After pausing my mp3 player (which I must use the term "mp3 player" because I do not have an ipod or other mp3 player that is recognizable by one word), I leaned in closer to hear the kid's request.

KID "Hey man, you get down?"
ME "Pardon?"
KID "You smoke?"
ME "Yes. Are you asking me for a cigarette?"
KID "Naw, dawg. Do you have any bud?"

His query was quite audible to anyone and everyone else on the lightrail. He even said the word "bud" real shitty-like, kind of how they do in those very religious after school specials. You know, where the square gets handed a joint and after figuring out what it is sheepishly asks, "Is this... mar-uh-wanna?"

ME "No, dude."
KID "Why not?"
ME "I'm in public."
KID "So?"
ME "No, dude."

At this point, I carry on with my mp3 player and watch him mouth the words "mother fucker" at me. We remained silent for the remainder of my lightrail experience.

Second Occurance (6:50 am): Walking towards school, I was moving along on University Dr. when I notice a girl sticking her head out of her window while driving. She made a very unsafe left turn and came to a screetching halt. Initially, I was confused. She called me over to her window, and because I am dumb, I followed. Immediately, this scene looking kid jumps out of the passenger seat and shakes my hands like we've been boys for years. I had a hard time listening to him due to the fact that I was still trying to figure out if I knew/was supposed to know this guy.

SCENE KID "Hey, yo, man. You know where I can find some r33f3r?"
ME "Right now?"
SCENE KID "Yeah."
ME "It's daylight."
SCENE KID "I know."
ME "No, bro."

He instantly becomes disgusted with me and runs back to the car he hopped out of. They pulled back towards University Dr. and flipped me off before they sped off. TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT.

Now, I understand that I look like I partake in r33f3r related activities, but to assume that I am carrying r33f3r on me at all times (especially in broad daylight and in public) is just fucking obscene. People do not know the proper way of acquiring r33f3r. When I used to work with Trevor (at a location that will not be mentioned or discussed whatsoever), he retorted to a young patron who had made the same mistake as my forementioned run-ins, saying, "You are either a terrible undercover cop or just fucking dumb." I feel like I will be asked at least 2 more times today by complete strangers, and 3 more times by people I actually know. Man, fuck.

Comedy "Enthusiast"

This bothers me:

"It took me awhile to decide if I should write this bio in the third person but then figured how personal is that? I mean this is facebook, the most intimate of all internet sites, so I just need to be me. There is no grand story of how I stumbled into comedy and to be honest, here I am almost 3 years later and have come to learn the stumbling never really stops. There is nothing out there like being on a stage in front of the world...or at least a couple hundred people you bribed to come see you that night...but it’s a rush that doesn’t go away, it just makes you crave it more. Thanks to a recent event at a show...I have come to the realization of the obvious. The best part of being a stand up comedian is that night in and night out, unless you’re a hack, you get to take yourself on stage. Just like in everyday life, some will love you, some will hate you, some won’t get you. Regardless of the situation, they will all respect you and it’s kinda cool to know that, good show or "bad" show, another mic is waiting tomorrow to do it all over again. I feel very blessed to do what I do for a living and get no greater enjoyment than knowing I may have made someone’s day better because of something I had to say that they could relate to on some level. You never know why someone needs or wants to laugh, maybe it was a bad day, week, month, maybe you are celebrating something, maybe you just wanna go out and forget your troubles, whatever the reason, I enjoy the opportunity to leave an impression when you come to my show. So, if you are interested in booking info for clubs, parties, or corporate events send me a message here or contact me at... otherwise I’ll look forward to seeing you at a show, and please say hi...see ya soon"

As you can probably tell, this was written by someone who has done/still currently does stand up comedy in Arizona. No, it wasn't me (thank god). But why does this make me want to slowly rip out every organ in my body through my dickhole you ask? Don't worry, I'll explain:

- We get it, brah. You like making people laugh. Who doesn't? You don't have to write a fucking novel about it, man. Just say, "I like to make people laugh" or "I consider myself as a comedian."

- What is your definition of a "bad" show?

- Fuck, dude.

- This seems more of a desperate plea for others to consider you as a comedian than any actual description about you, defeating the purpose of a "Bio."

- You open your Facebook Bio with, "It took me awhile to decide if I should write this bio in the third person but then figured how personal is that?" This sentence is unnecessary and I'm sure that you spent a lot of time on this. More importantly, it is "a while," sir.

- "There is no grand story of how I stumbled into comedy and to be honest, here I am almost 3 years later and have come to learn the stumbling never really stops." Not really helping your case of trying to convince people that you're a comedian, eh Anthony?

- REPLACE YOUR ELLIPSES WITH COMMAS, DUDE.

- "You never know why someone needs or wants to laugh, maybe it was a bad day, week, month, maybe you are celebrating something, maybe you just wanna go out and forget your troubles, whatever the reason, I enjoy the opportunity to leave an impression when you come to my show." Yes, because you MUST have a reason to want/need to laugh.

At first I was paranoid of posting this, but I really don't care if this guy reads it, to be honest. I feel justified because this is what comes up if you are looking at his profile and are not friends with him on Facebook.

Tight

ICP is performing at the Marquee Theater tonight meaning there are a fuck ton of Juggalos invading Mill Ave. I drove by at least three times honking my horn and screaming at the top of my lungs, "All of you are faggots." I could tell they heard me because they flipped me off and began slewing their own inaudible insults. Now, I must find something to do so that I could drive by the theater again.

I think I'll go to the gym... I've gotten rather "doughy" as of late. Too much beer, I'd say.

Fuck I need to stop being such a coward and write more.

I don't care what you think, this is still funny.

Bonobo - Mating Animals
Uploaded by armand14. - Discover more animal videos.

Two Weeks Notice

I woke up Monday morning and immediately wrote my two weeks notice. It was an exhilarating experience despite the actual length of my notice. The letter in its entirety:

February 7, 2010


To Whom It May Concern:

I am sad to inform you that this is my two weeks notice. My last day of work will be Sunday, February 21, 2010.

Best of luck,

Brian C. Rhoads

I left it on the manager's desk as I was finished closing the store. I wanted to say so much more about how that store has sucked out my soul and robbed me of whatever innocence I may have had left. I've been happier ever since. Dobbins asked me today how I felt and I could not summon up the words due to an overwhelming amount of thoughts that ran through my head.

Tuesday night I passed a man who was obviously fucked up and holding a handful of change on my way to class. Along with his defeated slouch, he was sporting a San Francisco 49ers jacket (that I'm sure was fresh in the 90's) and a black trucker hat with no logo. He approached me and held out one quarter and murmured the words, "Hey, yo, bro, I know you gots the sugar. Hook me up with some sugar." Sadly, I did not come through with the sugar and continued walking. The man begins walking behind me at approximately 5 paces behind and proceeds to ask everyone passing us for sugar. It was tight. It was like he knew that I wanted to hear as much of his daily interactions as possible.

I was heading to my Harlem Renaissance class, the class where white kids feel they get the green light to say the 'n' word as much as possible. Notable characters:
1) "Desperately Trying to Be Different" Girl - She has a wild haircut and wears the same denim jacket with a "The Cramps: Bad music for bad people" patch safety pinned to the back of it. Isn't she unique? I overheard her exchanging jokes with other classmates. When it was her turn, she said,"Ummmm, well, what's the difference between roast beef and pea soup? Anyone can roast a beef, but no one can pee soup!!! I heard that on iCarly." For those of you who do not know what iCarly is, be happy. My only justification for knowing this shit is my seven year old niece.
2) "Girl Who Desperately Wants to Be the 'Desperately Trying to Be Different' Girl" Girl - She constantly glances over at Example 1 for an indication of how to react to nearly everything. All that will make her happy is Example 1's acceptance. She is also mad dumpy.
3)Crazy Asian Lady - This one is my favorite. She is in her sixties and can barely speak any English. I am not mocking her for either one of these traits, but what you also need to know is that she is fucking crazy. She will utter a half-coherent sentence whenever she wants and has also been asked kindly by several people in her vicinity to stop grabbing their shit. On several occasions, I have seen her eat a bag of chips by holding the bottom of the bag with her hand and eating straight out of the bag with her mouth. Tight.

Good Morning.

This is the second time within a year that I have been robbed. You can see where the thief used the screwdriver.

Ahhh

Shortly after my last post, my computer became infested with viruses and completely shut down. Bruce E. Bruce, having taken a community college course in computer technology, deemed that my computer was in such bad condition that he needed to rebuild the computer entirely. Today was the first day I have connected to our wireless router in over 3 months... The first thing I did when I got the internet working was attempt to quit my MySpace account. This shit is impossible.

Since then, I would spend my time at home watching terrible television. I kept up with Wifeswap and Jersey Shore, but I fell into a habit of watching terrible movies filmed back in 1996. The latest one was "The Fan" (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0116277/). You try and find something worse. I went through a "Saved by the Bell" phase lately, but luckily for me, Cheaters comes on around the same time. I'll watch Lifetime movies, prison documentaries, Secrets of Aspen... Hell, I'll even watch "For the Love of Ray J," but I stop at "My Life as Liz." That shit is just garbage.

I'm too excited to have the internet right now... I must pause in my writings. Here are two amazing videos:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=amFdmB_t-DY
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zn1mKOnWn_Q

Cut Me Up, Brah.

Holy shit. This story starts at the beginning.

So near the tail end of my shift, I was pissing irregularly and constantly. It was embarrassing to have to take so many breaks from work, but I had to do what I had to do. Ty and a couple of my coworkers suggested that it was a UTI (Urinary Tract Infection) and recommended that I slam as much cranberry juice as possible. Doing this made shit intense.

I have what is called a stricture (a pinch in the urethra [your piss tube, brah]) which causes me to piss irregularly and slowly. Normal people piss like a faucet on full blast, where as I piss like a faucet barely turned on. I had surgery back in 2005 to correct this, but after about a year, the symptoms starting showing again in a slight manor. I remember after that surgery, I sat in a papasan chair (HOW THE FUCK DO YOU SPELL THAT?) and watched a marathon of the Venus and Serena Williams Reality show. I'm a glutton for punishment via terrible TV?

Cut back to slamming cranberry cocktail. Around 8:30pm, I was freaking out in my bathroom trying to piss. I called my sister who had informed me about all the possibilities it could have been and convinced me to at least get it checked out. I was freaking the fuck out, needless to say. At the emergency room, I was assigned a hot nurse who was really calming and friendly. Of course they give me the hot nurse during this embarrassing penis dilemma. I wish I shaved my balls. They ran tests on my urine and even checked to see how much urine was in my system. I had more urine in my bladder than the machine could calculate; They estimated that I had over a liter of piss in my bladder. I looked like one of those pot bellied children in a third world country.

She (hot nurse) attempted to put in a cathader but could not insert it completely due to my reappearing stricture. They even tried a smaller one to see if they could squeeze it past my stricture to empty up my bladder but ended up with the same result. They had to transfer me to a hospital which had an on-call Urologist who would actually respond. Dr. Heiland was the only person I encountered who didn't have a sense of humor. Understandably, I was the asshole who woke her up at 4am.

Sidenote: In both hospitals, there was a drunk man handcuffed to a stretcher. The one at the first hospital had the net mask so he couldn't spit at the cops/nurses. It was humorous to hear the staff just talk to this drunk fuck.

DF: GET ME OUT OF HERRRRE I DONT WANT TO BE HERRE UNCHAIN ME CUT THIS OFF CUT OFF CUT OFFF
NURSE: That is my favorite type of t-shirt. What's your favorite band? (In attempt to calm this fucker down)
DF: (I shit you not, but the guy began yelling:) ICP! ICP! ICP!

hahahahahaha. The second guy was wasted and wouldn't comply with the hospital staff. Instead, he just kept calling the cops 'faggots' and screaming 'ow' as loud as he could. Also, as I was being wheeled to the ambulance, I saw several dumpy girls passed out (and tied down) on stretchers. Awesome.

Anyways, I had the surgery again and now have to have a cathedor (however you fucking spell it. Right clicking it doesn't help... they just think I'm trying to spell cathedral) for a week. Awesome.... right?

The best part of the whole experience for me was seeing my family, especially my sister. She came through when I needed her the most and was a big sister. I know it sounds stupid, but my sister and I never really got along too well until she moved to Arizona with us. At that point in time, I was 16 and 'independent' and refused any type of help. But last night, I finally had my older sister.

That and seeing Sadie always makes me happy. I love you so much, Sadie. You're getting a great Christmas present (like you always do).

This was the spoOooOooOOOokiest Halloween I have ever had. Be safe, kids.

Invitation - Shel Silverstein

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some fla-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
come in!

So a couple days ago, I finally figured out why I couldn't connect to the internet and I felt completely retarded. It was basically the first time I had tried as opposed to just saying "fuck it" and played Super Nintendo for hourz. I have also been really fucking busy over the past weeks which results in me being a lazy shit whenever I am at home. Anyways, I digress. This post would have been last night, but I watched an ungodly amount of porn and royally pounded one out. It was quite miraculous.

I got a 94/100 on my sign language video tape, mother fucker!

I typed "wacky picture" into Google and this picture came up with the caption "Grandma's are so wacky!" Incredible. Incredibrah? Just maybe.

Farce Side has been going swell. We are getting better every week.

Friday night at work, I was driving through a bro palace (a condo community leased out to a bunch of bros and slooterz w#0 k@n b 533n @t dUh p3WL @t @LL t1m3zZ!1!!) and saw a sloot stumbling in the middle of the street and eventually directly in front of my Honda CR-V. She stared right into my eyes and said...


SLOOT: If I show you my tits, will you give me a pizza?
ME: Absolutely.

Before I could finish the word, she already had her nipples exposed, defenseless to the moonlight and covered parking. I am an honest man; She had awesome boobs. Good for her. After a moment...

ME: Sorry, miss, but I sell sandwiches. Later.

I drove off towards the automatic gates and back to the store. I'm pretty sure she didn't really care or even remember it in the morning.

Time to sleep so I can fucking throw it down in sign language.

WU TANG!