Reasons you will hate me

Time to make percentage party.

*ring ring*





'Yes, Mr. Nelson?'






'Morning, Kate! Are we feeling well this fine and merry day?'






'Very well thanks, sir. How can I be of assistance?'






'Could you put me through to J-to-tha-Hizzo, H-to-the-Wizzo?'







'Sorry?'






'Howard. John Howard.'






'Putting you through, Mr. Nelson.'



*click*





'Doo-de-doo-de-dooo.....'






'J to the Hizzo.'






'Guess who?'





'I have no idea.'






'I'll give you a clue'.





'Honestly, I don't have time for this.'





'Yes you do. You have plenty of time. You told me you spend half your days playing Scrabulous and the other half alphabetising your polaroid collection.'





'......Look, who is this?'





'Here's the clue. DIRTY. DOZEN.'





'.............'





'Gimme a T! Gimme a W! Gimme an E! Gimme an L! Gimme a V!'





'Twelv?'





'And another E!'





'Twelve?'





'That's Mister Twelve to you, sir. Mister TWELVE PERCENT!'





'....Brendan?'





'Wassup dawg???'





'Oh! Twelve percent! Of course. I was meaning to call and congratulate you, but...well, you know how it gets.'





'No dramas, no dramas. Listen, we're having a little party at HQ on Friday to celebrate the big one-two. Some champagne, few Pommes Noisettes. I may shred a few tight riffs. You and Janette free?'





'I...sure. We could stop by.'





'Grand. See you then!'


*click*





'Kate?'





'Sir?'





'Tone, please.'





'Putting you through, sir.'



*click*





'Dum-de-dum-dummmm'





'Tony Abbott speaking.'





'How many eggs in a carton?'





'...Is that you, Brendan?'





'Bro, we flyin'! You going to swing by the drinks Friday for a little par-tay?'





'Er...okay.'





'Don't forget your Fresh Prince of Bel Air record! That shit is off the hook!!!'





'Fine. No problems.'



*click*





'Oh Kaaaaaate....'





'Right here, sir.'




'Put me through to Syndrome, be a doll.'





'One moment, sir.'


*click*


*ring ring*





'What if god was one of us....'


*ring ring*






*ring ring*






*ring ring*






*ring ring*





'Oh, fuck off...'


*ring ring*





'I'm afraid there's no answer, sir. He must have his phone switched off.'





'Huh. Maybe he's at lunch. Okay, grab me Mal the Pal.'






'Connecting you now, sir.'






'Umbrella-ella-ella-eh-eh-eh...'





'Turnbull.'





'Lurch! 'Tis Monsieur Douze 'ere.'





'Mmm.'





'Guess who's having a knees-up shindig?'





'I don't know. You?'





'Oui oui! You wanna come shake your rump-ah? We're hiring decks.'





'....Actually, I'm busy.'



>br>

'I didn't tell you when it was yet.'





'Oh. When is it?'





'Friday.'





'I'm busy. Sorry.'





'Oh well. Not to worry.'





'Yeah, I've actually organised a few drinks for the boys myself, so...'





'No problemo, chief. Have yourself a fine time!'





'Right.'



*click*





'..............'


*ring ring*





'Yes Kate?'





'I've got Mr. Abbott on the line for you, sir.'





'Put him through.'


*click*





'Beano, Tone. Listen, something's kind of...come up on Friday. Having a few drinks elsewhere, looks like I'm not going to be able to make it. Hope that doesn't put you out.'





'...No, no. That's fine.'





'Grand. Have one for me, eh? Tell Buswell to beee-have, baby. He'll know what I mean, HAHAHA.'





'....Sure.'





'Ciao.'



*click*





'............'


*ring ring*





'What is it, Kate?'





'I've got Mr. Howard on the line for you, Mr. Nelson. He says it's about Friday. Something's come up.'





'...............'





'Sir?'





'....Fine. Put him through.'


*click*





*sigh*

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