This last time, she waved this letter about some stupid show called Speeding Ticket in my face. As soon as I saw it, I was remembering the huge fiasco that came up from the time she wanted to watch Rent. For some reason, even though I made it absolutely clear to her that I didn't want to see thespian queers running around crossdressing and singing about roaches, she said that we were committed to something or other and that if I didn't cough up a thousand fifty on the spot, something unspeakably horrible would happen. Honestly, I didn't really pay much attention until she explained that she'd somehow gotten us into this situation where if I didn't pay for the tickets, my internet access would apparently suffer, drastically. I think she's a drug user- she's always coming up with excuses for me to pay this exact same amount every single month. I definitely know that it's way more than the price of tickets; I went to the show's website and saw that they were seating people for twenty-one times cheaper than what she said. Unfortunately, all my pills come from her, so I knew I was pretty much stuck paying so I could get my meds.
Anyways, I totally didn't want to see this Speeding Ticket show, which I assumed to be some ripoff of Taxi Driver or The Fast And The Furious or whatever. I asked her how she even found this show, and she said something about me being in Scottsdale, Arizona, and how there were cameras on the freeway. I knew she didn't trust me, driving around in my car. I didn't even tell her I was going to Scottsdale. So now, not only do I have to pay two hundred dollars for some show I have no intention of seeing, I have to tear apart my car and figure out where the hell she hid the X-10 spy cam.
0 comments:
Post a Comment