I have a lot imaginary conversations

Don't like dialing?  Then you need Google Voice.  With Google Voice you just click on a telephone number from within a Google search and The Google Voice Service will call your cell phone number and connect you to the phone number on your computer screen for free.

It's a kind of cool service, and it is just one more way for me to be lazy.   Also, it allows the people who never do evil another opportunity to inculcate themselves into my world.

I don't know about you, but I feel all warm and cozy whenever I give a giant multinational corporation free access to my  personal information.

After reading about such a wonderful service I had to have  Google Voice make a call for me.  So I had Google Voice call me a liquor store.  I'm sure Google feels dirty, but I really wanted some beer.  To be specific I wanted a 12 pack of Schlitz.   And I needed peanuts.  Whenever I drink Schlitz I have to have peanuts.

I bet you are shocked that I don't know the local liquor store's number by heart, or have it on my speed dial.  Well... I would..., but I don't need people looking in my cell phone and finding a liquor store number and be like, "fucking liquor store in your cell phone contacts...what the fuck man?"

When you have taken as much PCP as I have you might just have a reaction to said comment and have to "decapitate a bitch" if you know what I mean.

What I am saying is that you can't really "know" how the girl you let move in with you just two weeks after meeting her at a rave will react to the fact that you "might" have a problem with alcohol.

I'm sure her Daddy was a drunk and probably let himself into her room on the weekends (when mom went to get her haircut or something) and now she feeds that need to overcompensate by fucking men twice her age- hopped up on pills and coke, but god forbid she gets a whiff of beer on your breath... because then its all over.

None of this has anything to do with the imaginary conversations I had with myself on the way to the liquor store.

The liquor store owner normally closes up at 1am on weekdays, but after I called him and explained the whole Google "thing" he was intrigued, and said something like, "if you can make it down to the store before I close up then you can get some beer," and "maybe I can make sure I will stay open if you give me one of them Google Voice invites."

I told the owner that I had only one invite left and let it be known that I was holding out for pussy (or at least pictures of pussy) before handing out my last GV invite and he said something like "whatever"  which I think is Arabic for "douche bag."

But he soothed his smart ass remark over by saying, "Either way I am making 10 bucks on two six packs of Schlitz, so I'm cool."

At the store I bought 2 six packs of Schlitz and two bags of 50 cent peanuts and paid with my debit card.

I walked back to my apartment where the whole time I was having a conversation with the starting QB of the flag football team that I backup in my day dreams.

(If you are wondering why I can't even be the STARTING quarterback on a FLAG FOOTBALL TEAM in my daydreams that would require a lot of back-story as they say.)*

*I keep a Excel spread sheet of my stats from my day dream seasons.  E-mail me if you want them.

The conversation was about a play where I had to take over and throw a pass on 4th down and ten.

I took the ball from under center and drifted back behind my line.  A defensive man ran towards me and I shook a fake at him and hid behind the well timed block of a teammate.  As I ran toward daylight I spotted my first option just past the first down marker.

My receiver threw up his arms at me, but out of the corner of my eye I say my second option streaking towards the goal line with nary an opponent in sight.

I faked a pass towards my fist option and let a long throw go towards the player deep down the field.  I angled the ball slightly to the left to avoid worries about the out of bounds sidelines, and gave the ball some loft allowing it to be securely captured by my number 2 receiver.   My teammate's flag was pulled down quickly just as he caught the ball.

We had the ball at the opponents 10 yard line and the starting QB comes racing back onto the field shacking his head at me.

"You've got some STONES to make that throw."  He yells at me and smacks me on the helmet with both hands.

"Not really." I confess to him.  "I gave it some air.. (took something off the pass to make sure the pass would be caught.)

Starting QB just laughs at me.  His blond hair just visible under his helmet.  'Your a trip, old timer.  A trip."

[This post is dedicated to me i-pod which has everything from music videos by Lindsay Lohan to iconoclastic you-tube lectures on Heidegger.]