I know it freaked you out when you saw me in a loin cloth with a baseball bat in your backyard the other day but I have a good excuse...
Why does every diet have to start on Monday and every pint of ice cream has to die on Sunday night at 11pm?
I sometimes like to imagine that I am a giant titan squashing woolly mammoths with my huge club. So I guess what I am trying to say is sorry about your cat.
I think I might need a girlfriend. Not just for the companionship but so that I don't look so weird sitting alone at Chick flicks.
2 comments:
I was wondering who was in the backyard.
My ice cream dies at around 11:55 pm. And yes, I am leaving a lot of comments today.
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