zenexistence

I think I'm a pretty good friend.
In general, I listen, comfort, care for, appreciate, delineate, support, honor, cherish, obey (just kidding), alleviate, elevate, devolve, involve, dissolve and resolve while I revolve conversations with my friends.
Call?
I'll generally pick up.
Text?
I'll generally not ignore.
Show up at my door?
Well ... damn, that's straight-up annoying so I might punch you in the nipple unless you have a real good reason for doing so.
The point I'm strenuously attempting to make here is that I'm there for my friends or, at the very least, I attempt to be there for them regardless.
Unless you lie.
Then?
You.
can.
go.
fuck.
your.
self.

I just dealt with a liar recently; a person who was supposed to be a friend. A close friend.
I'm brutally frank (hello, I'm dastardly Robin) for the most part, so I'd appreciate at least an attempt in return. Yes, I realize not everyone is capable of this type of mannerism, and I'm fine with that, but lying is the complete opposite of this. I'm means you lack either the urge, ability or backbone [buy a backbone, please, or at least rent a goddamn backbone] to be able to offer up honest communication.
I don't need people like that in my life.
Go.
fuck.
your.
self.

Okay, on to something SO much better:



I still want an otter. Completely, utterly [otterly?], totally and cereal-ly.
I would call him Shakespeare Shakazulu von Crapple.
I would dress him in tailored Victorian petticoats and teach him to play Parcheesi.
I would recite Bladerunner quotes to him.
I would buy him his own coffee mug and we would toast Cafe Americanas on the porch while appreciating the sunrise/sunset/sunnyside eggs on the TV set.
I would make him mango and jalapeno salsa.
I would help him eat the salsa.
I would actually eat all of the salsa because I knew ahead of time that he didn't like that kind of salsa but I'd make it anyway so he thought that I was a culinary genius.
And he would love me so much he'd bring me flowers.



I totally just HEARD you say "awww" out loud.

Actually, we have an otter in the area that attacked three people. They found it floating dead in a canal a few days later and it tested positive for rabies.
Maybe if they had bought it tailored Victorian petticoats and served it mango and jalapeno salsa he would have been more cordial.
Stupid unwashed masses, use your heads.

So, speaking of giving, we're rapidly approaching [encroaching] Christmas time. I love giving gifts. Really do. I'm like a skinny, beardless, tattooed, single, sarcastic, freckled, non-reindeer-and-sleigh-owning, non-inappropriate-elf-touching St Nick. Looove giving gifts.
Getting gifts is fine and all but I always feel so awkward, I never really know what to say.
"Sweet Mammy Brown, thank you SO much for this giant mauve beach towel Aunt Edna, may water buffalos never reproduce in your undergarments!"
See?
That's obviously too detailed.
Oh, and nativity scenes!



And stocking stuffing with those little gifts that always keep on giving!



And games with your relatives!



And duct-taping infants to walls!



And inappropriate Santa Claus being inappropriate!



You know, of course, that I'm going to go do some Christmas shopping for dear friends right now being that I'm so amped up after writing this.
Don't worry, I'll get all of you a gift.

True story.

-Scotty