"What the fuck do you want now?"
"How is dystopia preparation going for you today good buddy?"
"I know you have nothing better to do than sit around and thumb yourself all day long, I have things to do. The time I waste with you could be used for something productive," his patience thinning ever more.
"Give me a break," adding with humor to my tone, "How many times can a guy clean his guns and do ammunition checks. Good gracious, Mad Max, get a grip on yourself!"
"Listen, I know you think this is all a big joke and that I'm just some dumb ass in the woods with too many guns. I'll tell you this boy," stopping to catch his breath for a moment, "When they finally work up enough gall to come rushing through my door, I'll be ready! Your fat pasty ass will be the first guy to capitulate."
He's been overusing the word capitulate. I let him know, "It's always capitulate with you. It would be great if you could find another word. Do me a favor and don't say it or dystopia ever again when we talk. How's that sound for a new start?"
"Do you mean how your fat pasty ass will be the first guy to capitulate once dystopia arrives?"
"That's real funny Mad Max," adding with more laughter, "You should head to open mic night and try out some of your material."
"It's not meant to be funny jerk off!"
"Relax good buddy, all I'm saying is you got to chill out with all your crazy talk. People are starting to take it to heart."
"They should," his tone becoming more & more impatient, "Look man, I got crops that need tending so I don't have the time to sit around and talk shop with the first guy to capitulate," he then hangs the phone up without saying goodbye.
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