So last week on Facebook, I noticed that it was my friend’s birthday. I wished to do the polite, friendly thing and wish him a happy birthday, but being the mentally under-developed, man-child that I am, I couldn’t just say “Happy Birthday Buddy!” because that’s too easy and makes too much sense.
To be honest, I really don’t like having to be reminded of my friends’ and family members’ birthdays through a soulless website. I don’t think I’m alone in that regard. But, much like the rest of the mindless cattle that make up the Internet community, I don’t like having to remember things like birthdays, anniversaries, blood types, which color wire to cut, when to enter the number sequence into the hatch computer, how many bushels are in a peck (or vice versa?) and so forth. It’s a hassle. Having a machine do it for me is so much more convenient. Which means that when SKYNET takes over and the robots enslave us, we’re going to all stand around in a confused manner, trying to remember if it’s Taco Tuesday or Hot Wing Wednesday.
Anyway, I decided to congratulate my friend on surviving another year, but I wanted to do it in my own special, idiotic way. So I texted him. Allow me to present the conversation in its entirety:
There are a couple of things you may notice with that brief conversation. The first being that I completely neglected to say anything birthday related, or even positive, during that exchange. I completely dropped the ball on that. Oops.
The next thing you’ll notice is that I begin by beseeching my friend to “stay black.” This is impossible, of course, because he’s white. But we can all dream, can’t we?
The other thing that may jump out at you is that this person has absolutely no idea who I am. None whatsoever. But, being the trooper that I am, I push through and continue with my end of the conversation, undaunted.
At no point do I break character or fumble on the main talking points of my argument. I want this person to stay black and I want them to know that I cut bitches. Also, because I like to add a dash of mystery/suspense in all that I do, I leave them curious as to my identity.
Keep in mind, even though I was not recognized during this text conversation, I was convinced that I was talking to my friend Tom. It wasn’t until a few days later that I talked to him and discovered that he had changed his number (Years ago and never let me know. Some friend he is.) and the person I texted is a legit stranger and probably now stays up at night wondering about the random person who texted him about his bitch-cutting hobby.
With this being the Internet, I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody out there knows who this person is, or knows somebody who knows somebody who once sniffed a chair that this person I texted once sat in. In which case, you have two options here. You can let that person know that I made a mistake, I meant to text a happy birthday wish to my goofy white friend, and then you can both enjoy a hearty guffaw. Or, you can tell them that you’ve heard whispers about me. I’m out there, I’m sharpening my knives. And I’ve got hair like mid-90s Lorenzo Llamas*.
*Because, why not?