I know we count everything.  First and foremost, I count my friends.  I Used to count my CDs, but I quit around five hundred.  I estimate now I’ve got about four thousand, maybe five.  I can’t count that high, anyway.  I can never get that high, ‘member?

     I used to have more computer games than I could count.  Snapped on that about the same time I snapped on old snaggle-tooth.  You don’t find chicks studying the minimum system requirements for Army Man 3. 

     And don’t let anyone catch you checking out the Barbie game.  Even if Barbie’s fucking stacked, and has a hell-of-an-ass.

     So I gave them all to the nerd kid across the street.  Ten grand and ten years of effort taken out through the door in a wheelbarrow.  Good riddance.  Now that kid’s gonna be fucked up for the rest of his life. 

     Which is fine with me, because his dad told me they’d mow my lawn the rest of the year for free   They did a shitty job the first time, and three weeks later hadn’t returned.  I asked ’em, “What the fuck is up?”, couched in different terms, of course.  The kid told me he’d cut it for thirty dollars.  The little eunuch bastard. 

     Then the punk asks me for technical support to get the games running on his mom’s abacus.

     I also don’t count the cigarettes I smoke.  I used to count them as a way of determining how much time had passed because I was too cheap to buy a watch.  In Physics class in high school we had to build and present to the class a homemade clock of our own design.  Mine was the Cigarette Clock.  Stood in front of the class and smoked a cigarette for seven minutes.  Got an A.  That Dr. Filipek was the second best teacher I had.

     Number one was Donna Limbacher.  Man was she hot.  And smart.  And married.  And twenty years older than me.  I’ll be right back.

2026 R.M. Reliable Electric