Time Zone

You're asking me? Well, it so happens that my time zone will kick your time zone's ass. What the fuck does your time zone have? Auckland? Hyderabad? You can't put up next to my zone -- good ol' Eastern Standard Time.

I'm a wise, old man and I've seen a lot of places. I've gotten a lot of ass all over the world -- people always ask me, "Brian, which time zone is the best?"

No fucking question. Eastern Standard Time. It's the gold fucking standard. Food tastes better here. Wine is sweeter. The whiskey tastes stronger, the days are sunnier, girls are prettier... there's no goddamn question.

You throwing Greenwich Mean Time at me? I laugh. China Coast Time? Fuck is wrong with you, son? Alaska-Hawaii Standard? I'll belt you in the lip, you little homo.

I... it's just that... oh, I'm sorry. I'm not feeling myself lately. I don't mean to be so cross at you. Things are really fucked up right now. Edith walked out on me three weeks ago. She fucking walked out.

After 26 years of marriage, she bolts. We've had some fucked up times, but they were long past. Y'see, back in the ’80s I had sort of... a... what you'd call indiscretion. Midlife, and all that. We were on the outs for close to two years, but we patched it up. We had kids to think about. Edith was always good about that. I think she really made an effort to work past it.

But three goddamn weeks ago, she drops a bomb. I'm poaching two eggs, getting ready to go downstairs and open up this light bulb shop, behind me, that we run, and she says a bunch of shit all ending with the word "divorce."

Fuck am I supposed to do now? I'm an old man. The kids are out in the world, they don't need me. Edie don't either.

Fuck me. Maybe this goddamn Eastern Standard Time is a fucking train wreck, after all. Maybe I should get my ass to Hyderabad, where the lawyers can't find me.