Reason #2,368 Why I'm a Bastard!

I went Christmas shopping today. Well, I guess you could call it shopping. I actually just donated money to the Harvest Crusade in the names of those to whom I'm giving presents. You like the grammatical structure of that last sentence? I "to whom'd" the hell out of it.

So I was at Circuit City buying 90 D batteries for the ghettoblaster that I bought for my grandpa and I sort of recognized the girl working the register of my line. She was an unattractive girl, but, for some reason, I kind of knew her. That last sentence sounds like I'm implying I don't know any unattractive girls. I didn't mean to imply that; I meant to state it outright.

Quasimoda finishes ringing me up and I swipe my debit card to pay. The whole time she's giving me the look like she recognizes me or maybe I look delicious to her. After I swipe it, she asks for my I.D. She's holding it in her hand, then says, "I knew a Kurt once."

Now, not that I think that I'm such a beautiful, unique snowflake that nobody else has my name, but it's pretty uncommon, so I know she's saying she knows me and is trying to get me to say, "You do look familiar. What's your name?"

But, since I'm a bastard and I refuse to keep any unattractive lady friends or acquaintances or even speak to them in public really, I just picked up my bag, said, "It was probably me," and I skipped merrily out the door.

What I'm hoping will now happen is that she'll go home and google* me. Then she'll find this entry and realize what a cockbite I am and be glad that I didn't bother to continue the conversation with her. So I was actually being kind to her by not talking to her and then calling her unattractive and Quasimoda behind her back on the Internet. Never mind that whole thing about me being a bastard. I'm like Father Theresa.

*Masturbate while thinking about

Interesting thought of the day:
When you put your tongue on a 9-volt battery, that's exactly what it's like to suck Benjamin Franklin's dick.