I think anyone who has a pet should be required, when talking about their pet, to remember that most people don’t give a crap about their pet and just want their paycheck without any lip! (This includes myself, if and when I ever get my new puppy. You all must keep me true to my word, because I’ve already begun to turn to the dark side).
I think the Backstreet Boys must seriously reconisder their attempt at a reunion. It scares me when I am driving home at 11:00 at night and hear a love song on a VERY BAD RADIO STATION because the one that I like only plays Loveline at night (and by the way, I’m pissed about that as well) and I hear the Backstreet Boys. I am transported back to high school and am thinking of the sweaty south gym with it’s rubber floors and crepe paper. Frightening thoughts.
I am sure that all players in the Shawnee Intermediate Sand Volleyball leauge should have mercy on my team and my arms (and my legs and my feet and my belly) and drink at least 5 beers before playing us. We must end the 6 game streak.
Thank God for hotdogs, beer, summertime, the Royals and camera phones.
Thank God for mini bottles of Bacardi. And thank God for Justin Timberlake. Yes, I like Justin Timberlake. Yes, I understand he’s kind of the same deal as the Backstreet Boys. And no, I don’t care.