“Yeah,” I say. “He was Mister Gassy Gasterson.”
“Ha ha ha,” Bobby laughs. He sez in a quieter voice: “Is the manager really not in?”
“Nope,” I say.
“D’ya know if he’s coming in?”
“I don’t think so. I think he left for the night. He said he had to go home and attend to his wifely duties.”
“Geez-us, what a prick,” sez Bobby.
“I know, man,” I say. I like how Bobby says it like it is. He just says it.
“I mean, keep your pants to your own self,” sez Bobby.
“Huh?” I say.
“Or whatever the expression is. I think I’m mixing metaphors here, now that I’m thinking of it. There’s keep it in your pants, and there’s something like. What? Keep it to yourself or something?”
“ Sorta like mind your own business? About what you do with your pants?”
“Yeah, that’s it, you got it, Timmy! Mind your own business about your pants or what you do with your pants. Or without your pants.”
“He’s so uptight, I’ll bet he keeps his pants on when he’s having sex.”
Bobby laughs, “Ha ha ha, yeah. Just opens his fly. He just opens his fly and bangs his wife with all his clothes on.”
“And then he poops in the toilet later.” I don’t know why I just said that. I think I just need to blow off some steam after all that anxiety I’ve been having.