My Fucking House, My Fucking Phone!

I've just been across the road with surfer dude.
Flick is asleep on his sofa. He's drunk.

"I've just had an argument with your ex."

"Word of advice..." I interject.

"Never argue with my ex. You see it's not about an exchange of viewpoints. It's an animal thing, purely about hurting you. As long as you remain calm and unaffected, you're winning."

Surfer Dude stopped blinking some time ago. This indicates he's very drunk. He stares at me for a while then replies.

"Yeh, I know."

I'm also drunk, so I continue,

"Even if you are clearly winning the argument, she'll just switch to another attack about something else. It doesn't even have to be justified. She'll just switch again the moment she's obviously loosing."

I can see he recognizes exactly what I'm talking about.

"Yeh, I know............. So I phone Flick your daughter, from my works mobile phone, to my house. Your ex answers. She says she thinks it inappropriate for me to speak to Flick right now. She's in my house, answering my fucking phone, I don't know why she's in my fucking house, answering my fucking phone, so she's got a fucking cheek telling me I can't speak to her daughter, who's enjoying the benefits of my house. Did I give your ex permission to be in my house, let alone permission to use my phone?"

I can picture the whole thing. We laugh together. Two drunks laughing at something that's even more stupid than we are.