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6/28/2005


If you're unwilling to accept Kurt Russell as the man who can take off and put on a shirt instantly then you might want to get off this imagination train right now.

Man, looking up pictures of Frankie Muniz is a creepy thing for a man in his mid-20s to do.
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This past weekend I decided to grill some steaks. Charcoal grilling, ladies, not that's-what-you-got-a-stove-top for sissy boy gas grillin'.

So, R. Girl invited over a couple of her friends. Girl friends.

When 4 dudes get together to grill some steak and listen to some Pete Yorn it goes much like this ...

Dude 1: (Nods head)

Dude 2: (Nods back)

Dude 3: (Chews)

Dude 4: (Chews)

When it's me and 3 chicks eating steak it goes like this ....

Chick 1: Ewww, there's like some fatty bubbles in it or something!

Chick 2: Where? Where?

Chick 1: Here! See?

Chick 3: Mine's bloody. Is the blood okay?

Chick 1: I think that's juice.

Chick 3: Juice is red?

Chick 2: No that's blood!

Chicks in Unison: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

Me: (Chews)
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