9:17am. Started writing “How to Make a Million Before the Weekend.” Why haven’t I thought of this before? You get rich before the weekend so you have two straight days of buying toys and playing with them and eating beef jerky and having beer come out your nose before you go back to work on Monday. BTW: I called in sick and tired today so I could figure out how to get the milli—what the hell? A fly just buzzed my ear. Right in the middle of a no-fly zone!
9:31 am. Called a couple of millionaires for some tips. Warren Buffet put me on hold. Bill Gates said he’d get back to me. So I—Damn, that fly is back. Does he not remember we just signed the Flea in the Fly in the Flue treaty?
4:53 pm. Still holding for Warren Buffet. My ear is getting pretty hot and sweaty. It’s hard to type with just one hand. Ow! That fly just doinked my ear again. He made me slap my ear so hard I had to slap my face and shout “Cut it out!”
11:44 pm. You know how in baseball, the catcher trots out to the pitcher to tell him one finger means fastball; two means hold on, my undies are bunched up; and five fingers means I’m just scratching myself? The pitcher covers his face with his glove, so that millions of trained lip readers can’t figure out what he’s saying and leak it to Bill Belichick whose spies are everywhere. Here’s the deal: With the NSA always listening in, what if everybody used a baseball mitt to cover their face when they’re talking. (Or if they haven’t brushed their teeth?) How can I monetize that idea? I think I’ll run it by Warren—the ham-and-egging fly just landed on my monitor screen. When do you finally say that’s it, I’m going after that fly? I’ll just grab this old baseball trophy and…
10:10 am. Well, I needed a new monitor anyway. Say, this is completely off topic, but do people ever get Cleveland and Cleavage mixed up? There’s got to be some dumb ball out there who’s said “Hey isn’t that woman with the uh…the uh… I bet she’s from Cleveland.” Now the dang fly is practicing touch and go landings on my bald spot. I’m getting my Glock.
11:12 a.m. Wow, I didn’t know you could put your phone on speaker so you don’t have to hold it against your ear all day and all night and get cancer. I can just set it down on the—Damn. The fly is standing on my phone! Damn. I just pounded the phone with the butt end of my Glock and it butt dialed a roofing salesman and simultaneously fired a round that decapitated my Gimli-son-of-Gloin action figure and went through the window. Followed by the fly.
2:09 p.m. Spent hours at the store demanding a new phone. Said I had no idea why mine suddenly stopped working. Reminded them I’m expecting a billionaire to call at any moment. “You didn’t hit it with anything, did you?” asked the snippy clerk.” I said “Why would I do that?” She gave me a beady look. “Because a fly was standing on it?” I finally got a new phone after I threatened to sue and gave them $650. Meanwhile the roofing guy was swatting at a fly up on the roof and he fell off. Hope he’s got medical insurance, ‘cuz he came down with a case of the shingles.”
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