The Logic of a Dipshit

The following is an account written of what I expect was my sister's perspective of an event towards the end of last week:

Hello! My name is Catherine! I am seventeen and work in a hairdressers and thus have a basic but limited grasp of English and a hold on Mathematics that I only gained via adding up the various prices of items on my almost daily trips to the local fast food place.

My older brother just finished college and is now applying for jobs! And hey, what's this? Someone is calling for him regarding a job that he applied for? He's not in right now, but the woman says that's okay, and wants me to get him to phone her back when he's in.

However, rather than using whatever ounce of meek intelligence I possibly may possess, buried deep, deep down in my fickle and useless brain, and telling him when I next see him - tomorrow, as I'm going out now, but will be back tomorrow evening with yet more greasy pizzas and fried food - I'll save it until the evening on Sunday, several days after the original phone call! This allows me the time to fill my brain with enough trash to forget all aspects of the phone call, including the woman's name, the company, or even the day the call occurred! This will undoubtedly be fantastically helpful to my brother, whose frustration at not hearing back from most jobs he sends CVs to is beginning to drive him partially insane!

Write it down? Well I suppose I could, but though my hands may be just capable of using scissors to deliver sub-par haircuts, I lack even a toddler's grasp on use of a pen or pencil and thus my writing is no more than an ineligible, untidy scrawl of nonsense.

Now, I must be off! I have fast food to buy with the money I apparently don't have, then I'm going to pretend I'm penniless and launder cash it from whoever I can to travel to and from work. Thanks for reading this everyone!

Bitch.

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