the thing that you were probably grappling with wasn't whether or not to get out of the bastard's way but, HOW QUICKLY you could make that happen. also, the other thought that was rattling around in that vacant space you call a head was, "maybe i should trying and update my haircut because this one makes me look like fucking parker lewis"? because yes, you should update your haircut squire. no one should look like they came to work via a doorway to/from the past. discuss. and oh yes, please die.
speaking of dying.
with the bad dye job. or rather bad bleach job.
the phrase you were looking for when someone holds the door is "thank you". say it with me. "thank you". very good. now onto the meat of the manner. you aren't THAT good looking. just because you clearly have a tanning salon near your house doesn't mean that it makes you look good. and i've already mentioned the streak job. come on, don't all you impolite sort watch sex in the city? besides, you kind of look like a pug in a wig. plus, you suck at living too.
the bastard doesn't want to hear about what kind of games eson will broadcast.
the bastard doesn't care about their newsworthyness.
however, the bastard does care that you shut the hell up before there is a report on the news tonight about a dead sales monkey thrown out of the ninth floor of an office building in murray hill. it might very well interrupt the uconn game. or the marion game. or the whatever the fuck game you were blabbing on about.
come on! i'm saving lives here.