My premium ends in ...tomorrow. So no more pictures. I was thinking about getting premium for myself because I think I about deserve it, what with all of the exciting updates... but actually I hate myself and also can't waste the money. Any birthday money = goes toward school.
So! On a lighter note. Here's a story Thomas told me one night not too long ago whilst we were chilling in the cold. Seriously. Robert interjects occasionally. He's dumb.
Thomas: Okay, I was sitting at home with a .22 pistol and was wearing this really thick leather gauntlet on my left arm. Of course, my first thought is "I wonder if a bullet would go through the leather." So, grinning to myself, I put the pistol against the leather and fired it. It didn't go through!
Giggling, I did it again.. this time, I managed to do it in the same exact place by accident, and drove both bullets through the leather and into my arm.
So I'm sitting there... blood pouring, digging bullets out of my arm, trying to hurry so that Amber didn't come home and ask questions. I rush and clean it up... but of course, I have this open wound when she comes home...
Gimpy: He comes to work wearing this big bandage he cant pull his sleeve down over and oh, tell her your pitifully made-up excuse.
Thomas: Okay. My story: I was at home, making a baked potato, right? And I'm poking holes in it with a screwdriver so it won't explode in the microwave, right? I misjudge the distance and I stab myself in the arm with the screwdriver. FLAWLESS!
Gimpy: So he tells me that... and I'm like "Thomas, no way. What really happened?"
He's like "Yes! It's true!" "No it's not" "YES. IT IS" "Dude, no." "IT IS."
"Want to know what's wrong with your story?" I asked him. "THERES NOTHING WRONG WITH IT BECAUSE ITS TRUE" "You're lefthanded, the wound is on your left wrist. Why would you try to cook with the wrong hand?"
Thomas: Yeah, so I start whispering at him to shut the fuck up 'cause she'd hear us. Amber was all the way across the street, and I sweartogod that bitch had sonar. I was sooo paranoid. *shudder* Fuck, I still am. *clings to me*
/conversation
The moral of this story: make your loved ones talk about their psychotic ex-wives because it is the fastest way to get laid. |