I hate bills.
Well, it's not actually that; I recognize the necessity of paying for things I receive. That's not the problem.
I hate finding out I'm late on bills.
Which I did.
Yesterday.
So, my credit rating is about to take a hit. Come tomorrow, when all the offices open, there are two or three that will say, "Oh, he's not gotten his money in on time. Fuck him."
And they will, but not in a way I'd like, with their own faces or crotchtal regions (and we're playing by the Warlord's English here, folks), but in a way I don't like...You know, with words and money and a note on my files that says "Don't trust him, he pays late."
Of course, this is only the second time I've EVER been late on a bill, the first being one that was due while I was at my grandfather's funeral. Neither of the bills I missed this time was the one I missed in October 2004, but I still am none too thrilled.
And that, of course, leads to an interesting little point.
I hate October. Actually, my whole family hates October. Those who know me will have heard this before, but not many of you who might read this actually know me yet, so I'll ask the forgiveness of those who do know me for my repetition, and go on.
My family hates October because it fears October, and with good reason; something like ninety or ninety-five percent of the recorded deaths in my family have occurred in the old eighth month. The odds are simply not in favor of any of us making it through October alive.
Accordingly, we celebrate Halloween something fierce; it means that October is OVER, and we'll most likely live for another year.
And so we get to pay more bills...
Well, it's not actually that; I recognize the necessity of paying for things I receive. That's not the problem.
I hate finding out I'm late on bills.
Which I did.
Yesterday.
So, my credit rating is about to take a hit. Come tomorrow, when all the offices open, there are two or three that will say, "Oh, he's not gotten his money in on time. Fuck him."
And they will, but not in a way I'd like, with their own faces or crotchtal regions (and we're playing by the Warlord's English here, folks), but in a way I don't like...You know, with words and money and a note on my files that says "Don't trust him, he pays late."
Of course, this is only the second time I've EVER been late on a bill, the first being one that was due while I was at my grandfather's funeral. Neither of the bills I missed this time was the one I missed in October 2004, but I still am none too thrilled.
And that, of course, leads to an interesting little point.
I hate October. Actually, my whole family hates October. Those who know me will have heard this before, but not many of you who might read this actually know me yet, so I'll ask the forgiveness of those who do know me for my repetition, and go on.
My family hates October because it fears October, and with good reason; something like ninety or ninety-five percent of the recorded deaths in my family have occurred in the old eighth month. The odds are simply not in favor of any of us making it through October alive.
Accordingly, we celebrate Halloween something fierce; it means that October is OVER, and we'll most likely live for another year.
And so we get to pay more bills...
But I get what you are saying.
(Now I know when the Warlord is at his weakest! Expect me when you least expect me...or..er...in October.)