a breakfast for losers...

I am supposedly a lot like Larry. So my father says. I lean against the wall, with a newspaper in hand, only pretending to read the words to avoid manual labor. This is what Larry did a lot when they were younger. So I am told. I was reading it, I swear, I swear! Larry has rotting teeth, according to my father, and is a lonely old haggard man. According to my father. Poor Larry. I will throw him a pity party, with little pity party hats. It shall be a hell of a time. Will you come, and won't you bring some flan?

I've been posting quite frequently in this thingamablogger. I must be stopped. And now I will go and frolic in the streets, and climb the trees that are starting to redden.