So he says to me “Take it to the limit one more time.” And I’m, like, one more time? How many fucking times am I going to have to take it to the limit? I mean, if this is the last time, fine, I’ll take it to the limit. But I didn’t hire on at this job to just take it to the limit every time you decide you want it taken to the limit. There are other places to take shit than the limit, you know? And yet he gets paid more than I do.
No, sir, I’m afraid not. No, you’re not. I understand that, and nobody likes to get a ticket, but I get people every day blowing past here, and I pull them over and they tell me they were just trying to take it to the limit, when in fact they’re way over the limit because they were ignoring the posted…there’s no need to raise your voice, sir. Yes, you absolutely were. I have it on the radar gun. Well, that’s your right, sir, but…look, do you want me to put you on the highway and show you the sign?
Come on, honey. Just this once. How do you know? No, but if you’ve never done it, how do you know you won’t like it? Baby, I swear, I never ask you for anything ever. If you don’t like it I’ll never ask you to take it to the limit again. Just…just take it to the edge of the limit. How does that sound? You want a drink first? I swear I’ll never ask you to do it if you just take it to the limit one more time. Come on, seriously. That wasn’t me. How could I have loved you and you never knew?
Solve for taking where “it” equals a photon in wave form and “the limit” equals the speed of light.
Yeah, I live at…I don’t know my account number. Sure, it’s 324-51-9717. 5719 West Coastal Avenue, that’s right. Yeah, well, that’s what I’m calling you about. They’re doing it again. The specific nature of my problem? Well, the bright lights have faded to blue again. Yes, again. It happens every night right around the end of the evening. No, they’re…well, they’re still bright, but they’re blue. Because usually they’re, like, yellow-white? I guess? Regular light color. No, I won’t be home between noon and four tomorrow, I have to work for a living. Yes, I’ll hold. Christ, I don’t even know what I pay the bill for.
The problem with your mother is…well, look at it this way. I spend all my time making money, you understand? Because I want you kids to have everything I didn’t have when I was growing up. And I want you to get a good education. So that’s why I work hard. But your mother, she spends all her love making time. What? Why should I have to explain that? It’s self-explanatory. She…well, Christ, Billy, if you just give me a minute. She spends all her time…her love, I mean, she spends her love…what I mean is, she uses all her love, which by all rights ought to go to me, as her husband, making time. What? I mean exactly what I said, Susan. Making time. Yes, you can too make time. I mean, I can’t because I’m always…no, you’re twisting my words around, Justin. Making time! Making time! It makes perfect sense, Susan. Is that what all your tuition money is going for? Christ, what a lip on you.
Yeah, I’m home. I’m looking for my freedom, man. Yeah, I already checked the laundry. It’s…yeah! That’s it, that’s exactly what I thought! Right behind the door, right? Because that’s usually where we keep it. Right! Right! At the party, because we had just finished it, and you said, “Right back there, behind the freedom door”! But, I can’t seem to find it anywhere. What? Chem Dawg, I just picked up an eighth. Yeah, I’ll save you some. Where? The…no, no, the freedom is behind the freedom door. I can’t find the door. Yeah, for, like, two hours! Do what? Do what now? Just follow the walls until a door shows up? That’s heavy, man. That’s really heavy.
I keep having the same exact dream. I’m in this southern rock band, and it’s 1975, and we’ve just written the biggest hit of our career to date. But we spent all of our royalties on cocaine and mechanical bull rides. Mostly cocaine, and three or four mechanical bull rides. So I’m really burned out, and even though we have the #4 song in America, I have to go to work as a prostitute. The john who’s turning me out dresses me up in a brown felt cowboy hat and a fringe suede jacket and calls me “Pussy-Eating Johnson” because the only movies he’s ever seen are Midnight Cowboy and Jeremiah Johnson. No, it doesn’t bother me that much, because that’s what I wear most of the time anyway, but it turns out that ladies and queers are mostly into disco now, so I’m not making a lot of money, and it’s really humiliating. And the thing is, I keep having this same dream, over and over again, and what’s really weird about it is that I’m not even in the Eagles! I’m in Barefoot Jerry!
Hey! Get moving! I don’t give a shit it all fell to pieces, you put it back together and get it the hell out of here! There are people at the limit waiting for the fucking thing! They don’t get it from us, they’re going to get it from Hinder! Is that what you want?
Mirrored from LEONARD PIERCE DOT COM.