Come out, come out …

All right, it’s not funny anymore. I know you’ve gotta be around here somewhere. I counted to 100 at least 5,000 times, the way you asked me to just after you blindfolded me, spun me around, and drove me somewhere in that junky car that smells like old tacos, and I didn’t peek once, not ONCE, just like you said.
So where are you already? It’s kinda chilly out, and I swear something is crawling up my leg! I don’t like this game, and I don’t think I like YOU. You know what — don’t even bother calling me anymore either.
Goodbye.