friends

I have taken on a smallish potato as my confidante, with only slim hopes for something more. The god-given physique indicates my potato is female. This is how I've adorned her:

1. a woollen cap, because, campers, it's cold outside
2. a well-placed button
3. miniature screwdriver appendages
4. arrows pointing to "pleasure zones"
5. carrots

Hand me the snips, provided they are flavoured with rich cheese, for this very night a most outrageous passion fruits up in me like some salamander. He's Just Not That Into You. I dreamt like thirty times that Greg Behrendt deflowered me. He didn't. It happened to be a rowdy goat at an otherwise pleasant petting zoo. The goat had similar hair, but less posing. Still, it was too... oh... cardiovascular. But this movie looks fun. Fun *!fun!* Ben Affleck once called me on my mobile and asked if I was wearing the bra he mailed me. I lied and said no. These are good snips.

"Totally jammin!" replied the young (well, young-ish) lemon, Snim Harkins, when given the opportunity to be a superdancer. You see, there are some types of dancers, but superdancer is a great type.

And this opportunity came by chance. He was willy-fishin' near the seaport with his darling Pete, a helpless but lovely Chekhov scholar, when the seabeast rolled up flashin' bank. The seabeast, who was nameless, removed a stunningly bejewelled pen from his pant and proffered a scholarship and contract to Snim for a dance role par excellance.

These were lies. Later, a miffed stud named Shapes straight willed himself into renown when he popped Snim in the lip with a spider, fudged the contract and split. Pete saw it. It was sick. The seabeast had no chance to man up.

Snim, still totally jammin, gave no damns.

Willies were to be fished. Pete loved him right.