(via texburgher)
If this is a joke, it’s hilarious.
If it’s not a joke, it’s hilariouser.
If hilariouser is not a real word, then I think it should be.
If that’s okay with you.
I mean, I guess if you’ve just decided by fiat that hilariouser is not a real word, then that’ll just have to be okay with me, won’t it? Is that how this works?
Not that I’m addressing this woman. Or her toot. Or you. Or even the problem of fake words. Because I’m not. I’m just saying.
Because, really—and I say this with all sincerity—you should do whatever makes you happy.
And, if that happens to include drinking my last Diet Coke (again) and leaving the toilet seat up (again) and continually using my nice expensive Fiskars sewing scissors for your weird collages (again) and then never putting them back in the top drawer between my cat’s medicine and the pack of AAA batteries you seem to think I never notice you take and that I very politely reminded you in several very polite notes to please, PLEASE! PLEASE!!!! stop doing: then, yes, I guess all of that will just have to be okay with me, won’t it?
Yes. I guess it will. I guess that’s just my problem now. And that’s fine.
Whatever.
Not that I’m talking to you. Because I’m not. I’m just saying.
Anyway. I agree. I agree in spirit with everything you’re saying. Do you hear me? I agree.
Because, nobody likes passive-aggression.
Is that okay that I agree with you?
Okay, good. I’m glad. I’m really really really glad.
Not that I’m talking to you. Because I’m not.
I’m just saying.
I am, literally, just saying.
If that’s okay with you.
This is the closest thing to Salinger I’ve read in a, well, ever.
