Oh, I think I can resist.
Can I resist you? Hell, I’m repulsed by you. Your posts makes it seem like you have all the sexual appeal of a used gym sock.
Ooohhh, it may seem that way for now . . . but trust me . . . at the end of the trying day . . .
Hey, I have a friend named Ryan that we call Rhyno!
We call him that because he got his entire Jeep Rhino-lined. Maybe you two should party.
TRANSLATION BY CRAYONS:
Because his skin is grey and wrinkled and he’s got a really big nose.
Yup. Press-on nails. Buffed with nail polish.
He carries weapons.
Beat up his baby brother.
Eats lotsa fibre.
Lifts beer mug from table to mouth.
Drinks mouthwash for the alcohol, Swanson Hungry Man, beating up baby brother, “there once was a man from Nantucket…”
Shovels sh*t.
He’d love to be able to order properly from a menu.
Keeps his pennies in a jar.
His apartment smells like a zoo.
Parks in the handicapped space unless told to move.
Sometimes dresses up like Superman, in public.
Bangs pots and pans together – calls it “drumming.”
Admits he has no brain?
Yeah, we should party with another guy that goes by Rhino that my sister knows. They call him that because his last name is Rinehold. His first name isn’t Ryan, so he could only kind of hang out.
Ya know I was kidding…
My eyes are brown.
Jerk.
. . . yet surprisingly accurate . . .
I resisted. It wasn’t futile.