Whisper about your best friend behind her back.
It's Friday.
I sent a picture of my testicles to Robert Shandera yesterday.
Through my cell phone.
It's really a versatile piece of equipment.
And the best thing about these cell phones?
You can call your wife from the Tim Horton's.
And you can say, "There's no fruit explosion left, so what do you want?
...
Blueberry? Uhh...I don't see any blueberry. Yeah, the girl's saying there's no blueberry."
If you go to a large auditorium or concert hall, you don't actually need to specify a time or meeting place anymore.
You just get out that cell phone, and you call your friend from the entrance.
And you can say, "Yeah, I'm here, where are you?" while you look over the sea of doe-eyeds.
It's a great invention.
Every single person on the planet should have two.
Anyway, I texted Shandera a picture of my testicles.
I had to go into a bathroom stall to take the picture.
I was so amused with my own antics I was giggling in class.
My mom keeps telling me that I need to 'grow up.'
Not today, mom.
Not while I still have these balls of mine.
I'm not not getting a haircut because da missus likes it long.
I'm not (not) getting a haircut because I can't afford one.
Twenty-six years ago today Sarah Turpin first escaped from the Cryogenics lab.
Be sure to throw eggs and cabbage heads at her in the street.
*Can't take credit for this one.
It's a GTA IV quote ("Is he still talking about that fucking game?")
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