So I'm laying in bed and my cell phone goes off. I glance at the clock. 1:07AM. What the? I look at my caller ID. Luminated against the florescent backdrop are the letters T. Buzanis. The following exchange transpires:
Chaim: Tommy, you son of a bitch, it's three in the morning.
Tommy: Chaim listen to me. (Pause) I've been drinking.
C: Yeah, so?
T: I would like you to join me for a cocktail and some good conversation. I'm putting the finishing touches on a buxom blonde with a cross to burn.
C: Ok, first off, are you a character from a 1940's detective movie? Who talks like that? Secondly, where are you?
T: Rush Street. I'm not sure where. Some place that smells of cologne and desperation.
C: You've done nothing to narrow my choices. The Viagra Triangle. You would.
T: Tommy doesn't need Viagra. My boner is Au natural.
C: Disgusting.
T: I see you've been defiling my good name on that blog of yours. I've spoken to my lawyers and charges will be filed. I will ask the judge for full custody of the site, hereby changing it to Tommy Buzanis' Saloon and I will dedicate the site to boobs and steak.
C: To be fair Tommy, the site is pretty much dedicated to that now. Creative name change there too. Clearly you've been drinking and your comments should be taken with a grain of salt.
T: Margarita salt! (Pause) Bitch!
C: Tommy, I don't have time for this shit.
(Click)
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