And he’s all upset and crying about the Michael S. Malone piece. He goes, “Steve, you told me I was your little He Whore. Now you’re giving Malone that title? I’ve done way more for you than he has. Damn you, Steve! I feel like a battered spouse.”
I was like, “Brent, relax, there’s room for more than one He Whore in my life. And you know I only hit you when you deserve it.”
He goes, “I know. You’re right.” He sits there, sniffling. “I’m sorry.” He waits a minute and then in this nervous voice he goes, “You know I love you.”
I know what he wants me to say back. Which just makes it better. I give him this long pause and then I go, “Huh? Sorry, I was checking my email.”
Then I hang up. Click.
Vaya con dios, He Whore, as they say in the Basque country.