that crazy bitch strikes again.
Last weekend while I was preparing for my debut at the Case Race my phone rings – Caller ID notes it was my old Landlord.
Now, I’m hopped up on two 5 hour energy shots and I’ve got a purse full of beer, so I’m clearly in a great mood.
“yes, Old Broad, what can I do for you?’
I’m pretty sure she dropped the phone out of shock, ya’ll know she didn’t think I would answer.
Getting into it, apparently the old, pig-faced bastard that lived next door to me is sending her official court documents and blah blah blah blah friggin blah.
“haha oookay Old Broad, you just let me know how it turns out”. I asked two people what they thought that meant and the consensus was she’s bored and looking to break my balls. The other piece of advice was “if someone looks like they’re going to serve you with papers, avoid them”. How do you know you’re getting served, you may ask? Well, someone dunks a ball in your face.
No, not that kind of serving. Alls I know if anyone asks me what my name is, I’m responding with “parles-tu francais? Oui?”
I knew 8 years of French would come in handy one day.