"Do You Know Who I Am?"

Ugh. I really hate having to say that ("Do you know who I am?"), but every now and again the situation warrants it. Anyway, so yesterday was Easter, and as mentioned earlier this holiday really bums me out, because people are either constantly reminding me about that time I was brutally tortured, or they're completely ignoring it and looking for eggs. Both really make me angry and upset. So instead of dealing with these people I try to pamper myself. I woke up late, drank my coffee out on the porch, and read the latest issue of Details (the one with Justin Timberlake). But because people kept walking by and saying, "Happy Easter, Jesus!" (which to me is tantamount to "Happy Crucifixion, Jesus!") I decided to go to the movies where I could get some peace. Unfortunately, I chose that new Tarantino/Rodriguez movie Grindhouse. Holy cats, that movie is violent. Not crucifixion violent, but pretty gory nonetheless. And the film was all scratchy, too. But when I asked for my money back, the manager told me that it was "supposed to be that way. It's artsy."
Bull... poop. (Pardon my French.)
Anyway, I didn't like the movie, and the Twizzlers made my stomach hurt, so I decided to get some take out from my favorite neighborhood Mexican joint. But when I called them, no one answered! And they're always open! "That's weird," I thought, and started walking home. But when I was passing by the Mexican place, I noticed something really weird... the chef and his entire family were inside eating!
Bang! Bang! Bang! I knocked on the door. The chef opened the door a crack and said, "May I help you?" And I said, "Uh... yeah! You can help me by answering your phone when I call!" And he was like all, "Sorry, Senor. We are closed." And I was all like, "No, you're not! Your family is right there eating!" And he was all like, "Senor, we are closed. It is Easter." And I was like, "Who died and told you to close on Easter?" He seemed somewhat confused by that. "Okay, let me put it another way... DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" Well, he was pretty embarrassed when he found out -- but he still didn't want to cook me anything. So I was like, "LOOK. I had two huge spikes hammered through my wrists, so the least YOU can do is make me some stinking FOOD!" Well, that shut him up, and he agreed to take my order. "What would you like, senor?" And I was like, "Oh, I don't know... how about a hamburger and some fries?" At that point, he looked like he was about to say something else... but thought better of it. Anyway, I went home and ate my hamburger and watched some old episodes of Arrested Development on my DVR. It was good, I guess.