He’s pissed because a Bluray *I* bought won’t play in *his* PS3. But he’s not just in a bad mood because of the situation of the disc not playing, he blames me. It’s somehow my fault, like I stupidly bought an inferior brand or something. Like maybe I bought the European version and should have known it wouldn’t work. I suppose the fact that the previews and ads played juuust fine doesn’t negate his theory…?
Oh, he’s not *acting* upset or angry at all. Oh no. Nor is he saying anything. He’s caressing my shoulder right now, in fact, and murmuring silly whatnots as he reads his tablet.
But it’s there. Deep. Way down deep. I know it.
Just like I know he had pie with lunch.
And will sing silly made-up songs in the morning while we get ready for work. And will drink a Belgian beer tomorrow evening.
And would still fuck Kaley Cuoco even after finding out she has breast implants. (“Well I *am* a man,” he would surely say.)
"UGH! Why would she admit to that?! That ruins everything!"
"The nerve that she didn’t consult you."
"I know, right? Oh well, the show isn’t as good since she got married anyway."
"Oh yeah. (Work buddy) and I have a theory why."
"Well, she’s no longer attainable."
"Because you had a shot…"
Nope, you can’t have him. He’s mine all mine.
"Can I at least read it to you?"
"You can, but I’m not really gonna pay attention."
"… Honey. You have met me."
“‘How many wangs can you count in the Mayan calendar?’”