( It's 2:30 in the morning when Drake decides he can't take it anymore. )

I've only been fired once. From that job I had at The Premiere. And it was really Josh's fault. Him and his stupid balls-in-the-popcorn-idea. Man, that place got trashed. I've never seen people act like such animals, and all for the sake of a couple of free movies. It was insane. My hair smelled like popcorn that whole weekend, no matter how many ( Read more... )

That depends. Are they girl zombies? 'Cause I bet zombie girls wouldn't be that much more difficult to handle than regular girls, which is one area I've never had any problems with ( Read more... )

I was. For close to five glorious years, I was an only child. Things were pretty sweet back then, too. I could walk down the stairs without worrying about them being covered with baby oil. I could eat my mashed bananas without wondering if someone had added super glue. I could play with my toys without worrying about something exploding, catching ( Read more... )

I love being sick. Not the getting sick part itself, you understand. That part sucks, especially if there's puke involved. I can definitely do without that. But if it's the pukeless kind of being sick, that rocks. I can sleep whenever as much as I want to, for one thing. And when I'm awake, man, the attention I get is awesome. Mom checks in on me ( Read more... )

Drake jams his hands in his pockets so Josh won't notice his fists are clenched as Josh swings the tailgate shut. "That's the last of it," Josh says to Walter, who nods and gives up on his fumbling attempts to fold the roadmap ( Read more... )

( 'Merry Christmas, boob.' )

When I was younger, the word I most wanted to see removed from common use was "girlfriend." I remember Josh using that word to describe a girl I was dating, and I went off for ten minutes about why I didn't want to hear him say it again. It wasn't the word itself that was the problem, really, it was more the idea behind it. What it represented. The ( Read more... )

"Drake ( Read more... )

Hell yeah, I would. I'd be just like James Bond. I can just see it now: a gorgeous, scantily-clad girl on each arm, whose only purpose in life is to get me into bed. A fast car, tricked out with an ejector seat and a set of machine guns. A huge, gold-plated gun stuffed down my pants. I've got most of that stuff already. Well, sort of. I've got the ( Read more... )