He just gets it, you know what I mean? His insight is laser sharp and he's a (super soft!) shoulder to cry on. I can never stay glum for too long, he's got pills for that. And he doesn't pepper these conversations with "facts" or "critical thinking". Honestly, that just drags the fun times down.
"The Japanese should stop recycling!" he'll shout, or "Obama's a...he's a...a...cookie..." and then he'll trail off. I honestly don't know what he means half the time, but I don't have to. The passion that he speaks with, the fiendish cigar-puffing is pretty overwhelming, really.
I usually don't get a chance to talk about my woes much, but I don't need to. I just punch the speaker button and paint my nails and next thing you know, I'm feeling right as rain and my eyelids are closing faster than Rush's fist on a fifty.
Oh, he'll ramble on and sure, sometimes I gently hang up (I'll be honest he can get a little slurry), but he remains close to my heart.
Just this evening he was saying something about the Haitians deserving it...or was it...unions are ruining...I truly can't recall. Oh, it doesn't really matter, just listening to him gets me drowsy and soon I'm lying in the arms of Morpheus.
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