Nate and I had a smallish party. Nate is my roommate (a word which doesn’t seem to apply, because we have a two-bedroom appartment). Now we have lots of leftover junkfood, because we both ingeniously bought quite enough for everyone who was going to be there.
Now, a story:
Once, there were two guys living in a small appartment. If the guys hadn’t known each other since kindergarden, and already worked out all the differences they may have once had–including one fall the stealing of one’s girlfriend and the subsequent three months of silence that followed–they would perhaps be at each other’s throats with switchblades and flamethrowers. Fortunately, such is not the case, and these two guys get along great. Thus, there is no reason for this story. The End.
If Nate and I ever live appart from one another, we’re going to have a hell of a time sorting out who owns which DVDs and/or Playstation games.
I dedicate this late-night post to Nate. He’s my roommate. A great guy. He plays Comedy Sportz.
Now, the meaning of life.