Brian Starts Argument, Passes Time.

The short Thanksgiving week is notoriously slow for most businesses, except, like stores that sell turkeys and stuff. Neither my wife, nor myself, work for a turkey store, so finding things to keep busy with this week has not been easy.

Since we were bored, we started emailing things back and forth to each other that were very boring.

Me: Today is boring and dumb. I'm gonna clean my keyboard. Heh Heh.

Her: I'm bored too, and you are gross.

Me: Flicking a lintball right now, a little busy.

Her: Are you busy the week of March 15th, 2026?

Me: If I had to bet on it, I'd guess my nosehairs would be the first hairs on my body to go gray.

Her: My sister's kids are always sick.

Me: If I peed in an ice cube tray, could I make pee cubes?

Her: I hope Bella's not getting Strep.

Me: Did you throw away all my underpants?

And on and on it went, all the while very boring.

Then she suggested that maybe we should buy lottery tickets. I never buy lottery tickets, considering the simple fact that I have a better chance of having my penis bitten off by a lake monster than I do of winning the jackpot.

I suggested to her that instead of buying lottery tickets that maybe I should just take a few Washington's and fling them into the street, because the same thing would likely happen which was nothing.

She said that at least her idea gave us a chance, albeit a slight one, of winning money. Let me be the first to tell you, I disagreed with her assessment.

My contention is that it was just as likely that after I flung some dollar bills into the street that a burglar would run by, carrying a large sack with a dollar sign on it filled with money (I made the further assumption that the money was untraceable, and that the burglar had been wise enough to discard the exploding die pack). Anyhow, the burglar would run by, slip on the dollar bills and crack his head wide open, just like my mom always worried about me doing. The burglar would be laying there dead, with a cracked-wide-open head, and I would simply walk over and take the bag with the dollar sign on it, and, somehow owing to the spoils of war laws from the first two World Wars, I would be able to keep it and not pay taxes on it either.

This scenario struck me as just as likely to occur as Ed McMahon coming over and presenting me with a big check. Wait, that might be Publishers Clearinghouse and Ed McMahon might be dead, but my point is still well made.

She disagreed and so we argued about it. Women huh? Oh well, at least it passed some time.