Fez called me yesterday and we talked for about 2.5 hours. Halfway through the conversation, we decided it would be cool to hang out the next day. He wanted to hear me play guitar and I thought it would be nice to keep the guy company since he can’t really do much outside the house. Nearly losing your arm can basically make you prison-bound in your own home.

Sometime near the end of our conversation, we started talking about foreign countries and accents we like and I said, “British accents are my favorite, but I also like the way people from Wisconsin talk.”

He replied, “Actually, my favorite accent is the Spanish accent, but that’s probably because my girlfriend is from Spain.”

How I wanted to respond? “What the #$%^@& *!#$% &*^! #$%^&@*! and you’re $% &*^! #$%^&@*!???”

My actual response? “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, ” he said, “I didn’t tell you that?”

#$%^@& *!#$% &*^!…

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh… I thought I did…”

Why do I suddenly feel like Cameron in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off when he discovers how many miles have been added to his dad’s car? Like the whole world needs to hear me scream.

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