Those friggin Canadians LOVE me!!! You want proof? Well here it is:

It's a little message ya want, huh? Hm'alright. Let's just see here .. Where to begin?
Well, I found one of those old erasable pens in my bedroom like an hour ago, and that kinda got me thinking. It got me thinking about my youth, and how my childish naivety always ran rampant, and how sometimes I'd be all, "Hey, I can erase my mistakes now .. And look! My entire hand is blue!" It also, however, got me thinking about the time this kid, Andrew, how he tried to give me a wedgie once cuz I was wearing Froot of the Loom underwear, and how Andrew had to take his medications at recess.

By the way, isn't "Fruit of the Loom" a little bit grandiose of a brand name? I mean, we're talking about crotch huggers here. These are hardly things one should proudly claim as 'fruits' of their labor, let alone the labor of hundreds of hispanic housewives working in some revamped textiles factory in Dallas or something, making a million of these things each day with industrial, diesel-fueled sewing machines. I mean, I suppose if an actual loom was involved, and spun out little slippers for newborns, or fuzzy blue mittens for rheumatic red-headed orphans, then I'd get it. But no---no loom---and they're just plain-jane elasticy shorts that protect our pants from our dirty, horrible asses/taints/gigglebits, and everything vile they represent.
You following me here? No? Ah nertz.
Lookit, just tell FuFu to get a move on with the entries; this one-per-week thing is total bullshit. Bull. Shit.

One of the Canadians

See - I told you so!
Squeeky