Going Klunk in the Night::



I do not have time for Klunk. In fact, I do not have time for much, much more important things than Klunk, such as eating, and sleeping, and often times the blowing of noses, and generally most things, which are, in general, more important than Klunk.

Sarah Klunk. A fitting name, as it sounds like something you would hit an intruder with should they happen to break into your home and stab you with something rusty. Klunk is what I might be inclined to diplomatically call, brain-liquifyingly boring. Last time we were out, or in as it were, she proceeded to pass out on my couch and remain there, whilst I went out and got drunk with other, unrelated peoples. Then I returned, and she was still there, on my couch, which, you know, I sometimes like to sit on, still sleeping, still liquifying my brain with how boring she was. I assume she wandered home the next morning, but she might have bored herself into coma a few times on the way there.

This particular night finds me having fixed Klunk's computer on a previous occasion and being owed dinner to be paid for by said Klunk. The only problem is, I have neither the free time, nor the desire to have any meal, let alone the most sacred of meals, with friggin' Klunk. I have to admit, though, that I did agree several days ago to have dinner with said Klunk tonight, because I thought that I would be free, which in reality, I am not. Was not. I was not free because The Blue Method scheduled a previously unscheduled improptu practice for this weekends slew of shows. And honestly, I'll take practice over said Klunk anyday. In fact, I'll almost always take anything over said Klunk, including a rectal exam.

But every time that I cancel dinner with said Klunk, said Klunk reacts as though I just told her that I'm backing out of donating her a kidney. Yelling and screaming about what a horrible person I am, making plans and then breaking them at the last minute, over and over and over.....and over and over again. But the thing is, fuck you Klunk.

Look, the fact of the matter is, weeknights are a time for not being with said Klunk. They are time for merry, jolly things like watching Tivo, and practicing with the band; working late and engaging in rectal exams. Said Klunk simply does not fit into my schedule, but, being the magnanimous humanitarian that I am, I agree to grant said Klunk the pleasure of my company the next night, being tomorrow night, which I again, several hours later, had to cancel out of the sheer dread of having to go through an entire day knowing that it will end with said Klunk.

I'm having a vision.....it's my future....I see... Klunklessness. I just hope I never encounter an intruder wielding a sharp, rusty weapon.