Classic SPE #4

Me: Ugh...so bored...and it's only 9:30. Damn it.


Work Ethic: Keep your nose to the grindstone! Give a hundred and ten percent! Feel the burn!

Me: You're not even fucking trying now, are you?

Anxiety: I hear screaming. Screaming is bad. There could be danger around.

Paranoia: What? What did you do now? Murder is bad! No means no! Bad touch!

Me: Stop. I hear it too. Sounds like a little kid's getting raped with a rusty sawblade.

Latent Psychopathy: That's possible? And WHY am I only learning about this NOW?

Civic Duty: You should do something about this.

Me: Oh hell no. Not my business. Wait...did she just say it was only colic?

Civic Duty: Uh...maybe...

Me: Oh fuck that then. Sick little bastard.

Latent Psychopathy: You know, you could solve their problem with that pillow you're holding.

Civic Duty: Actually that sounds like it could work.

Me: Don't encourage him!

Inner Child: A playmate!

Internal Sadist: Oh yeah, kid. Here's a garbage bag. Knock yourself off...I mean, out.

OCD: That. Pillow. Looks. Lopsided. But. It. Is. Okay.

Me: What the hell happened to him?

Work Ethic: It doesn't matter. Make that bed!

OCD: They. Gave. Me. Morphine. Now. I. Do. Not. Care. Anymore.

Me: How the HELL did we get MORPHINE?

Kleptomania: Sorry.

Writer: You know, you could just scribble some notes down on your notepad for the script that you seem to let drift further and further away.

Me: Shut it. Hey, where's Pervert? He's been uncomfortably quiet.

Pragmatism: You're better off without him but if you must know, the continous lack of any, as he so crudely puts it, "presentable ass" has left him weak and flaccid.

Immaturity: *snicker*

Work Ethic: What? Do you MISS having him make comments about vastly underage co-workers that make you feel gross and creepy?

Me: I didn't say that. I'm just, you know, used to having him around.

Pervert: *wheeze* I will rise again...*cough*...in the South.

Me: Ah there we go. Maybe some music would help.

Internal Sadist: Let's play "Randomimity".

Reckless Endangerment: Totally! Play a random song, bro.

Anxiety: Oh, I don't like the sound of that.

Me: Eh. What could it hurt? *presses random and C'est La Vie by B*Witched comes up* Oh what the FUCK?

All: *agonized scream of pain*

Internal Sadist: Change it! Change it fucking quick!

Me: *changes song and it's Tunak Tunak Tun by Daler Mendhi* Damn it!

Inner Child: It hurts me...

Me: Let's try this again. *presses random and it's Panama by Van Halen* Okay fuck this. *turns off iPod and takes off headphones* We'll go music-less for right now.

Latent Psychopathy: I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy...you're lucky.

Self-Loathing: Oh, THAT's original.

Anxiety: I'm scared now. Can that hell really exist on Earth?

Irrelevance: The pasta pizza truck flies slowly into Malaysia!

Me: Uh...okay, that part gets repressed from now on.

Work Ethic: This room's only half done, you slackass.

Pragmatism: You get paid by the hour, so either way you win.

Libido: Yes, but less time here means more time to build a nice sexy simmer at home so...

Me: Just...stop. I thought you were dead. Just go comatose, okay? I don't need you this summer.

Libido: You're no fun.

Inner Child: Break time! I want a muffin!

Gluttony: I want TEN muffins!

Pervert: I'd rather have a quickie in the laundry room with...

Me: Just shut the fuck up. Don't say another word. There is NO human being in this entire hotel that will appropriately finish that sentence so just shut up.

Writer: You're wasting time you could spend writing down Much Ado production notes.

Me: *sighs* The iPod doesn't sound so bad right now. *reaches for power button*

All: No!