Him: There are three list: Invite, Backstage, V.I.P. He's on the Invite.
Me: What does that mean? Does he need to get there earlier than nine?
Him: I don't know... Actually, because the invite is intended for you, they're telling me he can't use it. We have very little space as is.
Me: So he CAN'T go?
Him: No, he cannot.
Me: So this whole conversation is pointless an' has been a waste of precious time.
Him: Yes.
Me: Who are "they", these people who say this?
Him: What?
Me: "Them", "they"! Who are THEY?!
Him: _, _, _ and me... Listen, I know that you hate me an -
Me: I don't hate you, (yes I do!), I'm just confused as to why you're telling me this NOW, because it's not YOU who has to call him up an' be an asshole an' say, 'Sorry, you can't go afterall.' You'd rather give that invite to an industry shmuck than a real fan of _?!
Him: Sorry.
Me: (mutterings) Ciao. (Click!)

BBC radio dude: Would any of the musicians like to share what they ate for breakfast? No?

Me: I ran into a glass door two nights ago. Bis.
Her: Oh my god! Me I'm stuck at home coz _ has the fucking Grippe A!!!
Me: Goddamn doors, goddamn SWINE!

Her: I think they were trying to make us happy.
Me: I think they should fuck themselves.

Him: I think I smoked so much weed lastnight I died a little.
Me: Good Lord. Thanks for that.

Him: One of the reasons that I love you is because you use proper spelling and punctuation in your texting. Is that gay?
Me: Yes.

Her: Uh..so, you push your phone off, an'..uh, you wait five minute an' you push it on an' it will work. Call back if no. Sank you, Mr. Warren. I hope you have good day.
Me: No, thank YOU!

Me: My head still hurts by the way. It's amazing you still have a door.
Him: Still have the trace of your forhead on my window. We were laughing about it earlier on with _. I think I might keep it & sell it on e-bay the day you become famous...