No re-entry – you’ll have to be happy trolling the glory hole.
…and it shows. Your rolling creamsicle ads come in lots of different flavors Possibly the flavor is Sour Apple Black and topless like hookers named Apple The color of 8 barrel air cleaners Him: Reddened, like it’s engorged. Her: Stop looking at my boobs or I will take this microphone and Casino Royale your personal…
What a stupid piece of shit song, right? Well, it’s also nostalgic (in a pathetic, demented sort of way).
- first time I heard it was at the FSK house
- (at a Phi Sigma Kappa kegger – big surprise)
- The Romantics were from Detroit. Detroit music was cool – WLLZ (Whole lotta Led Zepplin) WRIF (Baby!), Motown (as I learned later). Even Ted Nugent (pre-insanity) compared to the tighty whitey repress your inner weirdo nature of my location
- I could tell anonymous frat girls that I liked them, because it was in the lyrics.
- No, it did not get me laid
- Neither did getting messed up from Budweiser, FWIW, although I sure felt cool.
Despite what your drunken penis-brain tells you, that hot redhead who reminds you of Louise (Padlock’s girlfriend) on the hysterical historical geology road trip to Niagara Falls is NOT hot for you. This is not the first time you will confuse a girl that talks to you with one who is interested in you. It’s…
- Tickets to Founders Day Banquet: $20
- Ride with some goof named Al: Free
- Getting a semi-hot date you have absolutely no chance of scoring with 40 minutes before the party starts?: $20 (for the tickets, dipshit). You can get shot down for free anytime you want, and pretty much every time you don’t want.
- Cheesy award from Scott (which you keep for 25 years) because you at least didn’t go stag, thereby beating the over/under : Obviously priceless.
The pic is from a different banquet, although the girl in the red dress could very well have been my pity date from the award. ^^
Yeah, this could totally not be the worst idea ever. —–Original Message—– From: Effects Hazards [mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org] Sent: Sat 2/24/2007 2:46 AM To: Wink Dinkerson Subject: How are you? My name is Ekaterina.Hi! How are you? My name is Ekaterina. I from Russia, city Cheboksary. To me 28 years. I shall tell to you about myself…
See? Never believe what you read.
No one I know was ever near Wrigley. In other news, never trust a fucking camera phone. One day’s CYA photo is the next day’s “beyond a reasonable doubt.” You have been warned.
But not by me. I wasn’t there. If I was, I didn’t say anything to you about it. If I did, it wasn’t that. If it was, you knew I was talking about space aliens and not any property crimes or disorderly conduct of any sort whatsoever on or about August 2, 2006 in the vicinity of Clark and – uh, nevermind.