I will start off by saying, I only have fucking loons for friends. I mean, I have the weird, artistic Justin, who speaks fluent KittyCat, and blames his oddity on his mother for doing drugs while he was in-utero. I have Loosey Goosey Pussy Pants Stephanie, and then there’s Ashley, who goes to Church every Sunday (I don’t know about you, but I think she’s probably weirdest). Oh and Joey. Who is a ginger. What a freak. He can’t even blame that on his mother’s drug addiction. Being a ginger is just a genetic disorder. Like Huntington’s disease. Or dwarfism.

Although, thanks to her boyfriend, Stephanie is now an avid follower of Jesus Christ. I guess she and Ashley can hang out now, since she’s all holy and stuff. And Joey is becoming a bit of a slut, himself. As a red head, I would assume finding sexual partners becomes a difficult feat. But perhaps his bush is burning, or something.

Justin and I come up with strange theories all the time, like weird analogies, and things like that. Because of him, life is made slightly more bearable. Sometimes we talk about how Beyonce looks slightly different in every picture. We are convinced that there are actually several Beyonces living living in the house of Knowles, and they are interchanged when one Beyonce does something wrong.  For example, the Beyonce that fell onstage was so fired.  We’ve come to the conclusion that the most beautiful people probably don’t even have sex, and instead lay naked in bed together, basking in each other’s gorgeousness. Also, hell is a myth. We are actually living in hell currently, and if we don’t totally fuck up here, we make it into Heaven. Obviously.  Plus, we’re bitches. And all dogs go to heaven.

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Thanks to Justin, my email inbox is always fascinating. Otherwise my Yahoo account would be chalk full of notifications from gay websites, from homos or lezzers telling me, “You’re hot, I want to titty fuck you,” and things like that. Über boring.

Most amusing, and strangely true, I found this email today:

Saturday

From: Justin

To: Casey

So like, my family just had a circle jerk. And we all came on each other’s chests. Okay, not really. But whatever, it felt like we did. ”Hey, we should eat dinner together… like a family.” Erm, no, we really shouldn’t. Eating is super gross. It should be treated like masturbation. I guess it’s okay to do it with your friends, but it’s never okay to do it with your family (unless you’re like… related to Justin Bieber or whatever, then it’s hot).

Have you ever thought of what aliens would think if they teleported into someone’s house and everyone was stuffing their face with a cheeseburger and fries, together? I have. I assume aliens would find that disgusting. Then they would destroy our planet because we’re totally offensive and stuff. The act of eating is like way personal. Something you have to do in order to survive. Like cumming, obvs. McDonalds doesn’t call it a Happy Meal for nothing. That’s probably why every time I go to a restaurant I feel like I’m going to a brothel. That’s really why we tip, isn’t it? The waiter is helping us get off. Sort of.

Whatever.

x Justin

P.S. Lunch tomorrow?

* * *

I was horrified when my mother found my vibrator on my bed. I can’t imagine if she found my cheeseburger.

words Casey Fischer

This entry was tagged as beyonce falling over, circle jerk, dildos and cheeseburgers, family meal, happy meal, justin bieber, mcdonalds.