Thursday, July 13, 2006

You own the world's tiniest ramrod, or at least you'd like to

Bill Clinton sent me an email and said that he stumbled across you or your boyfriend on the net. We both agree that you are looking quite fit and Hillary also agrees:

Please write him a love poem and send it to him as one of my friends swears he's depressed about the state of affairs in the suspender industry.

My thirty-two's are mocking me.

She lays there in the comfort of the drawer untouched in months--who am I kidding....years--just sleeping away the day and watching cartoons and such.

I picked them up the other day and she said, "Oh, it's you! How have you been, it's been a long time since I've seen you."

"Yeah, I been keeping busy, workin out and such. You know, just living my life, having fun."

"That's great," she said.

Then I tried them on, just to see. I got them up past my knees when she yelled out, "OUCH, YOU'RE HURTING ME."

My thirty-four's have been pretty good about it. They tell me she was a bitch to me and I'm better off without them but I just don't know.

The 34's are always like, "Hey, bud, let's go get some beers, you should meet my friends 36 and 38, I think you'd really like them."

And maybe I would.

I don't want to seem a snob but I don't want new friends, I want my old friends back.