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I am angry at my bloodline.
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Jo�l was my first best friend. I think we met while swimming in our respective amniotic fluids. I remember playing at his house one Saturday afternoon when I was six or so. In the evening, when my parent(s) came to pick me up, we both ran out into the park behind his house and hid behind trees until they said that I could stay for a few more hours. When they came back around eight o'clock, we vanished into the park again, and they let me sleep over. We laughed hysterically into the wee hours of the six year old morning (probably midnightish) and had pancakes in the morning.
We fell out of touch when I changed schools in fifth grade. I'd see him on the bus occasionally, but we never really talked. My mother still talk with his mom though, sending "business e-mails" to each other courtesy of the Canadian government. His parents are out of town, touring Europe for three weeks, and my mom invited him over to her house for dinner.
He is just as much a slacker as I am, though he looks the part more, I think. He wants to travel and make movies.
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QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK! QUACK!
My duck clock will NEVER get old.
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I dub thee Zabi.
Heh heh, thee Zabi. It rhymes.
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Put a gun to my head and, chances are, I still wouldn't learn how to sing.
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Underdog
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