Deoxy #4: Talk To Me

DEOXY XYLOFLUX

The world is in a constant state of fluxuation. There are peaks and valleys in the great pacemaker of Mother Earth. It just seems whenever there is a valley, people have bad days... which they enjoy taking out on me.

I know they could easily avoid getting on my shit list by doing one simple thing: communicate. I am more likely to get along with a Hemingway than a caveman with built in rocket hands which shoot scorpions. I would do what anyone would do when confronted with such an atrocity: I would try to kill it. When angered people talk to me, it sounds like the Charlie Brown teacher mixed with metallic hornets. When they don't discuss how they feel about something I did, I feel like Helen Keller being raped.

Sometimes people cannot balance the tricky line of information, and they end up telling me too much information. Case in point: my job. These people either do not understand that I grasp their lingo, or they make some comment like, "You look like my brother." In case anyone who's ever gone to Ritz Camera is reading this: I HEAR WHAT YOU ARE SAYING. Do you hear me?

I'm just writing this article because I was forced to walk home last night because someone stranded me at his house. For the purpose of keeping his identity secret, I'll just call him Jeremy W. No, I'll call him J. Winters. I didn't like the kid, I just hung out with him because I felt sorry for him because he was so boring. God, it was hell talking to him on AIM, looking at his screen name (I hope no one discovers that it was "Winterman 80" so they won't send him threatening IM's ;)) Apparently, he didn't like my "wild, out of control partying" so he made me walk 5 miles back to my car! If he had communicated his dislike of what I was doing, I could have made amends.

Anyway, talk to me... please.