This morning I was heading into work when I ran into a guy we’ll call StupidHump that I used to bowl with on my Thursday night league. I hadn’t seen this guy in nearly four months because he inexplicably stopped showing up to league.
Fade into a flashback of our standard league night. The village idiot, we’ll call him Moron, comes in wearing the standard issue black velvet lined with fake (I hope) leopard fur p1mp hat while singing Rumpshaka. I will now remind the uninitiated that Moron is a balding, thin, nearly mistakable for Downs syndrome white guy.
Pan to StupidHump, on his fifth beer in a half-hour swaying his way down to the alley, nearly falling on his stupid hump due to advanced cirrhosis that has set in. He begins to yell at Moron for looking stupid.
Dissolve back to the elevator this morning. I decide to be bold and ask StupidHump why he stopped coming to league. Prepare yourselves for the best answer ever:
“I’m sick of dealing with stupid drunk people.”
Pot. Kettle. Black.
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