So here we are. Comin' to the end of March. What comes with the end of March? Easter muther effuhs, Easter. A celebration of the rebirth of our Lord and Savior, Marshmallow Peeps. Or Jesus Peeps. Something. Something about dying and moving a huge rock from a cave. Anyway, we usually celebrate this crazy magic trick (I'm not sure it was Guild approved) by dying eggs and letting a bunny hide them. On top of that, this year I'll be celebrating with my very dear (bitter) friend, Chris. Only we'll be breaking from the tradition of the eggs. Sort of. I mean, we'll dye eggs. Okay? Fine. God...the point is that on Friday I've pretty much signed my death warrant. I'll be participating in a game of Dodgeball with members of other branches of the military. I'm talkin' Army dudes. There might be Marines. I don't know for sure, I think I'm blocking that. The Army thing is crazy enough. Apparently "they're taking it very seriously". Meanwhile, I've been watching t.v. and trying to crack the case of the Mystery Swede. The closest I've come to preparing, is with a bit of basketball today. True Pleasure and I headed to the gym on base. I think that's the first time I've ever used it for anything except the bathroom. Did I mention that this dodgeball deal is going down at the Key Arena? During a Sonics Game. At Halftime. In front of people. THOUSANDS of people. Thanks for volunteering your picture taking services, Chris...I might need to use the before pictures for my wedding. I hope the army brings girls. Because I'm gonna aim for their heads and baby makers. Isn't that what Jesus would do?
3 comments:
Dude, tell Cuz' Roddy to call off the troops. I mean, they probably have some hazing to do somewhere else, right? Chris, we gotta go get a fake mustache for that day man. I'd use your pubes, but you don't have any. Unless...yeah, wipe your toilet seat and bring that shizzy!
Rhymes with switches?
Britta, my she-friends have never ratted anybody out.
Sometimes I run long distances too. But the police ALWAYS catch up. It's like, they KNOW. They KNOW I'm gonna jump that fence, or hide under that kiddie pool. Why am I talking to myself? Pass the Lexapro.
Wow, two whole miles? That's incredible! Shoot, even my black latex photo can't compete with TWO ENTIRE MILES. Mara, have you ever heard of such a thing?
I guess I will have to stop competing for Ryan's attention now that the truth of his upcoming nuptials are out. Does Angela read your blog? She should really get in on this. I was asking Justin if he thought Angela might be bothered by the blog content and water filter, and his response was that she's marrying you, so she must know what you're like. I laughed.
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