Half-heartily tucks t-shirt into blue jean shorts, eyes a barstool near an ashtray and slumps down
27 year old man here. I drink Jack Daniels and Budweiser* by the gallon. Philip Morris USA sends me a letter each month thanking me for my business. I was going to be smart** but sort of did an Icarus thing in college. Nowadays I do the kind of coding that monkeys hitting keyboards randomly would get around to by lunch. I’ll be fired within the month when they realize all I do is read and post on this message board.
I’m madly addicted to NASCAR and dirt track racing. My idea of a good Friday night is to go down to The Pub (it’s the place your mother warned you about) and get incredibly drunk and sing George Jones and Hank Williams (I, II, and III) songs on the karoke machines until you’re too drunk to read the screen. This is followed by a good old fashioned bar fight that gets you kicked out of The Pub for the night.
My house is decorated with beer cans and liquor bottles but there is a path in the clothes to get to the bathroom and bedroom. Oh yeah, and the sheets on the bed have not been changed in about a year and you’ll have to sleep on the “high” side of the bed. You see, I sleep in the dent and like it that way. Ezell the cat lives there too so there is a healthy coat of cat hair on everything.
I think my hair is starting to fall out but I’m not sure. I used to be a pretty good athlete but I’ve gained about 30 lbs and could give a shit. My back hair is getting thicker too.
If any pretty ladies would like to contact me, my email address is in my profile. :kisses:
*“I” before “E” except in Budweiser
** The first 15 years of my life are chronicled in Surely you’re joking, Mr Feynman. I’m not sure what happened after that.