Jackass' Jerk-Off Day

The dingaling has a new fixation with giving me a ringaling. It's actually an old habit that apparently died hard. For awhile I didn't hear hide nor hair from him. The calls were few and far between, and he kept them short and businesslike. But all that has changed. It's like he's got me on speed dial these days.

I'm not talking every now and then. I'm talking twice a day... like clockwork. It's as cyclical as my menstrual cycle, and every bit as painful. Just as I can expect Aunt Flo to come a knockin once a month, I'm equally prepared for J-Fed to come a calling twice a day. He's like a regular chatty Cathy. How's your day? How's work? How's life? You and Mr. Ex breaking up any time soon? It's as if he thinks we're girlfriends, exchanging life's lessons over a cup of hot tea. Only we're not girlfriends. I friggin hate tea. And on a bad day, I hate him too.

So this past Friday was no different. In fact, it was no different all around. You see, I was working, and as usual, he was playing. You can imagine my lack of shock when J-Fed informed me that he was fishing with a couple of guys that worked for him. It seemed unfair. In my own way, I had worked for him for 10 years, and he didn't take me fishing. Shit, he didn't even leave me a tip. It just wasn't right. I'm guessing it's probably because he figured I'd throw his ass into the ocean so the sharks could make a snack out of him. Nothing like a shit sandwich on a nice, warm afternoon. Right Jaws?

The first conversation was uneventful. He let me know his vitals -- yeah, he was still alive. No, he hadn't caught any fish. And yes, he was still crazy after all these years. After a brief chat, we parted ways. It would have been a good J-Fed day, but he had to go screw it all up. It started about 2 p.m. A ringaling from the dingaling.