- washboard abs.
- any abs at all.
- belonging to a team sport.
- belonging, full stop.
- having a nickname that wasn't used with derision.
- keg parties.
- scratch that.
- having a secret handshake/hi-five ritual.
- cruising down the strip.
- having a car to cruise down the strip with.
- knowing where said strip might be.
- having a favourite band.
- going to quirky cultural heritage days of which I'm weirdly proud.
- beach volleyball.
- not the "Top Gun" kind.
- not the "Dead or Alive" kind either.
- I'm not sure what I mean here.
- witheringly advanced political views.
- handing out Beat Poetry flyers.
- joining an amusingly mismatched club for a girl.
- getting more interested in the club's activities than said girl.
- a koi pond.
You SIR, have the hygeine of an overly ripe avocado and the speaking habits of a vaguely deranged chess set. I find your manner to be unctuous and possibly libelous, and whatever standard you set for orthodontal care, it's not one I care for. Your choice in news programs is semi-literate at best and I do believe your favourite news anchor writes erotic literature for university mascots. While I'm not one to point out so obvious a failing, there has been rumour that the brunches you host every other Sunday are made with too much lard and cilantro. If you get my meaning. There is something to be said about your choice of motor-car fuel, but it is not urbane and if I were to repeat it, mothers would cover their children's ears and perhaps not a few longshoremen within earshot would blush. How you maintain that rather obscene crease in your trousers and your socks is beyond me, perhaps its also during this time that you cultivate a skin regime that I'm sure requires the dea
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