Call Me Busy
Phone calls should rarely be made. And when they do, they should be terminated as quickly as possible.
All men know this because men know how to use things like telephones and band saws and eyeballs. We know how to use things because we invented them. Women using anything is like a bunch of monkeys trying to use a prop from Star Trek someone threw into the jungle. There’s just a shitload of noise and nonsense and anyone with half a brain knows none of it is going anywhere.
I get calls at work all the time. It’s because I’m a man and as a man I know how to solve all problems. However, when I do get calls at work I often find myself answering questions in the manner of, “Yes, I did see the news last night,” or “Why yes I am quite busy. Thank you for asking.”
Women talking on the phone are like that fortune cookie game where you can put “in bed” or “without a butler” at the end of every prediction. With women you can follow up your answer to every single one of their questions with, “What the fuck is your point?”
No man has ever spent more than ten minutes on the phone with another man — unless it’s a tech support call. With women it’s just endless buttering up to a question they’re never going to ask on their own. Buttering and buttering until the cracker is ready to break apart in their hand and fall all over the phone.
“Are you busy?”
I can’t even rightly assess where in a woman’s mind that question comes from. Of course I’m fucking busy. It’s called work, not fuck about and do whatever you please in a strange place that isn’t your house. That’s a woman’s life.
Women just love being an inconvenience. They also can’t stand having to ask a man for anything, including his help. Just like when a woman “needs” money, when she calls you at work, she thinks she’s already gone above and beyond the call of duty and that you as a man should know exactly what she’s gone and fucked up and what exactly to tell her to do to unfuck it.
For all the wrong reasons, women are completely right.
