Yippee Hooray for More Etiquette Talk With Dr. Gut

Sorry it’s been so long since I last wrote, but you know how busy Spring Break and all can be. Whew, glad all that’s over. But don’t think I’ve been slacking, tons of shit is in the queue (arguably the coolest word ever) and there should be a nice stream of articles coming soon (a stream comparable to one of those morning pees where you lie in bed for like an hour hoping you can fall asleep again but then finally give in and empty the bursting pressure on the kidneys). I know that’s a lot to live up to, but if anyone can handle it, it’s King Gut.

So the other day I fucked up my ankle and my away message was asking for an ankle wrap. Pretty soon after that this chick with whom I hadn’t spoken in months (and apparently IM stalks me just like every other female alive) IMed offering me one. So I went over to her place to get the wrap, and as I was ringing the doorbell, I was faced with one of the most difficult questions mankind has ever faced:
How fucking long do I have to stay in return for taking the shitty piece of cloth?

Well apparently we had waaaaaaay different opinions here—and it became apparent from the outset. I went in planning on a nice, to-the-point little talk, which should go something like this:

King Gut: So, how have you been?
Chick-Who-Is-Being-Graced-By-My-Presence: Great, I just…
King Gut (Cutting her off after the magic word “I”): That is so fucking great. Man, my ankle really hurts, would you mind getting that ankle wrap?
Chick-Who-Is-Being-Graced-By-My-Presence: Oh, right.
King Gut: Thanks, Chick-Who-Is-Being-Graced-By-My-Presence. Whelp, I’ll bring it back whenever I’m done. I would wash it, but I know how much you chicks love doing laundry. I wouldn’t want to deprive you.
Chick Who Is Being Graced By My Presence: Awwww, you’re such a sweetie King Gut. How can I ever repay you?
King Gut: (As I’m walking out the doorway): By not talking.

But right when I walked in she sat down, a completely unexpected move. She asked me to sit down, to which I told her my ankle hurt too much to sit—I’d rather stand. Well she was having none of that and practically pushed me onto the couch. You know, it’s fucking amazing how long someone can talk when all you do is grunt and give inaudible courtesy chuckles. It was worse than an episode of Sex and the City, except without the lingering possibility of seeing Tat at any moment.

After an incredible 20 minutes, she finally stopped to breathe and I knew it was do-or-die time. So I seized the opportunity and asked her, “So how long do you think someone should have to stay and talk to someone if all they’re doing is picking up a shitty ankle wrap?” Naturally, she was speechless for a moment. (And to this day, I still don’t know if it’s because my question surprised her, or if when I finally made eye contact with her to pose the question she was dumbfounded by my awe-inspiring beauty.) Regardless, I now owned the upper hand, and I couldn’t risk losing it. So I decided to answer my own question, “I think the visit should end as soon as one person makes a comment for the mere purpose of making it awkward enough for both people to want the conversation to end. Therefore, if one has the testicular fortitude to create such a situation early in the conversation, it should be his prerogative.” And with that, she went and got the ankle brace, and left King Gut free to enjoy all the sympathy massages he could fit in to one pimply day.

Have any comments that you would like to share with King Gut? Email me at: Gutmeister8@netscape.net

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