Hell Is The Abscence Of Zeus’s Love

As you know (I’ve only mentioned it like a million times already), I have a new PDA phone. One of the toilets that one must perform upon the receipt of a new communications gadget, is a little housekeeping of the phone numbers and what not new fangled bits and pieces of information.
So there I was in the train, happily fiddling away with my phone (did I tell you how much my wife loves my phone because when I have it, not even a sweet young thing in a miniskirt can distract me) and merrily deleting away phone numbers when it occured to me - I am such a petty bastard.
Here’s the criteria for deletion from my phone book:
- You didn’t attend my wedding
- You promised to attend my wedding but never came
- I hear you badmouthed me behind my back awhile ago
- I have always disliked you for no particular reason
- I don’t like you anymore (used to though until you did something, but I don’t really remember)
So as you can see, I really am rather mean. Some of these contacts have been in my phonebook for years, but this doesn’t stop me from ruthlessly deleting them thus removing the chance of ever getting in touch with them again.
I am stingy with my attention, it’s true. Which brings us to the ultimate irony - I left a couple of numbers unharmed by the thunderbolts of Zeus’s deleting ways, because I hate those people so much that when they call me, I want to know it’s them (oh the wonders of Caller ID) so I can ignore the call!
Would I like a magic pony - yes indeed!
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