Listen, don't bother telling me not to be a diplomat! Don't even tell me that. Don't even try to. I do it how I do it! And that's how I do it: with diplomacy.
When it comes to dishing out diplomacy, I just haul off and let fly! If you think I'm going to hold back on your account, well I'm sorry but that's not how I do it. I let fly. I haul off. Did I mention - I do it? It's like, with me, diplomacy, I'm a diplomat just falling downstairs in the morning, I'm a diplomat blacking some blackguard's eyes for him, I'm a diplomat kissing kittens on the way to work or jimmying a snack machine that cheated me out of my cheetos. I'm a diplomat smacking the hamburger out of your hand, hacky-sacking it the instant before it hits the ground with the deftest flip of my Doctor-Martens-booted-toe, and snatching it in my mouth on the upward arc! I'm hardly capable of amending my ingrained sense of diplomacy just because somebody doesn't care for me being who I am: a diplomat. That's their problem, BUD.
Ending a sentence with BUD rules.
I'm a diplomat with bells on. I give diplomacy a great name. People come looking to me for tips on that shit. The U.S. Consulate was like, "hey, we'd like to give you honorary diplomatic immunity, just on the basis of what kind of a diplomat you are." I told them to stuff their diplomatic immunity. Ever since Lethal Weapon 2 I've got no use or desire for that shit.
2 comments:
A man is sitting in the airport waiting for a flight when a tweedy looking gentleman sits down next to him.
"where you flying to," the man asks.
"My good man," replies the tweedy gentleman. "You should never end a sentence with a preposition."
"Ok," the man says. "Where you flying to, Asshole?"
CLASSIC.
Totally classic Pfeiffer.
Post a Comment