Alright, I’m gonna go now. Why do people always complain about how late you hang out? Isn’t just hanging out enough? Why does it have to be a marathon? Why do we have to hang out longer than we want to? Jesus, Carrie.
I’ll hang out. I’ll show up. I’ll come. But then I like to leave, roll-over, and go to sleep. I don’t want to talk anymore, I’m tired. Why do I have to keep going? You got what I came for. Why the attitude?
I’ll see you again. I promise. Same time, same place. Next Friday. With Ice Cube and Tamala Jones. From The Tracy Morgan show. But now I’m done here. I’ve said my piece. So I’m gonna go home.
Why? It’s so early. How come you never hang out? Where are you going? How could you leave now? Please, don’t go. Please. I’m begging you. I’ll cut you. Okay, fine. That’s cool. I understand. Lame. Lame. Whatever. Whatever. Goodbye.
One person always wants to hang out longer than another person. Isn’t that just the way they say it goes. Operator. And it’s a shame. To say goodbye. It’s like a big ol’ pussy patch on your shoulder. It’s a humiliating experience–going home earlier—every time. What a choade.
Talking takes work. It’s not so easy to talk a whole night. Making conversation. Building relationships. Constructing weird plots in your mind of how you could kill everyone present. That’s a lot of mental man power. After a few hours, you got to take a break.
Now don’t get me wrong. You should keep hanging out. You should get downright silly. As a Willy. You’re the better person. You’re in better shape. You have a better face. You deserve better things. You’re the best. But me, I gotta get out of here. New York’s not my home.
I wish I wanted to hang out more. I do. But I don’t. I’m done. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I do. And that’s forever. But right now I want to go home and eat Cakesters.
Why has no one talked about Oreo Cakesters? TM. Do the people know that they have made oreos into cakes? And that they can be dumped in milk and gotten soggy. And then consumed. Are the people aware? These things are amazing. They don’t even sell Ring Dings anymore. But that’s a damn shame.
Sorry, yo, I gotta go. I’m not taking a cab. I got to wait for the subway. Read about Scientology. A little drunk and start to think it might make some sense. Might not be a bad networking tool. It’s like a Linked-In for lost souls. That then become famous. Not a bad deal for 8,000 a month.
Peace in the African North-East. I’m out. Like the media in four days. I’m gonna get my coat, my scarf, and Mary’s hat and get on out of here. But it was great seeing you. It really was. I hope to see you again soon. Tell Dave I say hello. Bye. Bye.
Well, that was fun. Wasn’t it? Yeah, I had a good time. I really like that Katherine girl. She’s funny. Did anything happen after I left? Oh, really? No way. Oh, that sounds sort-of fun. Haha. Too bad. Thanks so much for having me.
I once read, I’m not sure where but I liked it, that John Keats’ last written words were, “I always made an awkward bow of it.” If they weren’t his I’d have them. So, later.
