No, I Would Not Like Some Free Stuff

Two promo goons from The End accosted me this morning. I was trying to explain to the girl at Bulldog that I wanted to fill my travel mug with some of her coffee, and here is the money to prove it.

I could spot them before I even approached the store. I passed them on the sidewalk. The guy was wearing a black hoodie with the station logo on the back; the girl had a '28 Days Later' backpack. I stop, and suddenly they're on me like flies to shit. Flies with no apparent self-respect.

"Here you go!" they said cheerfully to my un-caffienated, non-showered self at 7 in the goddamn morning. (Who the fuck does promo goonership at 7 a.m.?!)

"Uh, no thanks."

"You don't want any free stuff? C'mon we're from The End; we're not weirdoes or anything."

I take issue with the last statement, but keep it to myself. "No, thanks."

"Not even a free CD?"

Yeah. Cos I love those promo sampler CDs with half a dozen snippets of songs by I'd never listen to, and not because I've never heard of them, but because they suck. From the radio station I figured out by the time I was 16 played only the most banal and popular modern rock songs. I mean, guys, I love rock, I love indie, and homogeneous, corporate giant rock stations don't exactly whet my whistle even when they do occasionally play something non-shitty. Millions of people can't be wrong all the time.

So here are these two alterna-fashionista promo goons for one of the most frustrating stations in town, covered in advertising and trying to give me free trash, making babble behind me about how they're not weird, geez, aww. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's some psychological game promo goons play to make people take their stupid crap, and I'm not buying it.

Anyway, this coffee is some of the nappiest-tasting coffee I've enjoyed recently, which is an absolute first for Bulldog. It's also the first cup of coffee I've had in nearly a week.

Tonight we're hosting a slumber party. Girls only! Makeovers, pizza, chick flicks, and gossip are the apparent order of the day. I object to half the chick flicks I suspect will be proffered; I don't wear makeup, like, ever. It's kinda icky. But I'll go hang out, and I'll buy supplies to make french toast in the morning. Yummy.

And if the sewage--oh, yeah, we've got fucking sewage in the basement again--isn't cleaned up by the time I get home, my landlord is getting beaten with the hose.