What You Get For Being My Friend

The following e-mail exchange just occurred between myself and Matthew, a quasi-long time net friend that is visiting Toronto next week.

Big-Ass Matt (last night): " It's like 2:00 a.m. and I think that I should go to bed or masturbate or something equally as productive. Bake?"

Illustrious D (this morning): "I hope you wound up doing both. Masturbaking. At the very least you'd wind up with a decent bonding agent. Suck on that, eggs. There's a new kid in town: semen."

BAM: "Ew, haha. Masturbaking. There's so many double entendres in that brief paragraph that it made my simple minded head positively explode. Anyway: it's okay if Sunday isn't doable. We will find time, rest assured. If even it's only a few mere moments to point and laugh at each other and then part ways."

ID: "The following is an artistic interpretation of the situation you positted in your last e-mail. I truly hope that it does not come down to this, but in the event that it does, this IS the outcome which will occur:



ID (continued): "First of all, where are your goddamn pants, Matthew?! This is Queen St. W, not Cousin Humpin' Crescent, Saskatoon. Also, nice socks. Way to coordinate with the blue shirt. Douche. And man, your ass really is large and in charge. Not gonna lie though. I got pretty aroused cutting and pasting it into my 2 HOUR MS Paint project.

"So yes, please try to not show up to our point-and-laugh date without pants. If they are to come off, I would at least like to be the one undoing them with his teeth.

"KNOWLEDGE!

"Illustrious out."