Surreal

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Hate, hate, hate

What do we know about social order? I have a sort of pet theory wherein people like to hang out in groups where everyone plays a role which is mutually beneficial to the pack. Like where semi-good looking chicks hang out with duds so as to look better, or where, well you get the idea, the term tool comes from situations as this being so. And then there is that rare breed of person who evolves within a group, so's to fill a role; or simply find a niche which is comfortable. It has been supposed, and I myself have nominated that the J-Bird is one of the finest haters our generation has ever seen. Let me espouse some of the qualifications and criteria which comprise a top-notch hater: The hater must have at some point been hated upon, the Bird has certainly been hated upon; you can ask his former girlfriend about this being so. The hater must be extremely hypocritical, such as when the Bird tells someone their actions are wrong when in fact he is simply jealous and would readily commi...
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Everybody's workin' for the weekend...

Loverboy has said as much, and it shall be so. This weekend by the numbers: Money spent= way too much (we're going to get a personal advisor to handle that from now on). Hours of sleep= 2 (as in far too little, having been woken up to find missing keys). Number of chicks passed out on the couch with me Friday night= 2 Number of chicks I got action from Friday night= 0 - 2 (they're sleepers, these ones). Ounces of malt liquor consumed outside for the parade Saturday morning, 40, of course (St. Ides, I love you). Age of hot girl downstairs at Jillians= "24, but I'm engaged." Number of seconds it took me to eat the most breathtaking chicken sandwich ever, probably 24, and it was single (unless you count the fries it came with, in that case it was married, with fries). Number of doors broken by me= 1, but it was encouraged and a nice thing to do, in order to gain entrance. Friday, Evening: But let's get back to the matter at hand; Friday night was a card playing, ...
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