om_revenantLadies and Gentlefreaks, Girls and Boys - And Curtises All...
Guess what? Our very own Barry the Invisible Twat is plumping up into the ripe old age of eighteen tomorrow! Don't let his baby-soft pervert face fool you otherwise.
Now I know this means approximately jack shite to you Americans, but in Merry Old England, the time-honoured tradition is that the birthday boy on the first day of his eighteenth year receives sexual favours from all the prettiest girls surrounding, and that the men shower him with gifts such as liquor and pornography and cigarettes and snack foods and possibly even inflatable sex toys in the shapes of animals. I have heard Barry remark on a number of occasions (you think he'd be more subtle about dropping hints, I mean really, Barry, you're shameless) that he is partial to inflatable donkeys.
I just want to know how he keeps popping the damned things. Maybe you should content yourself with the number of holes it got put in during manufacture, man.
He's a total freak, right? But I wouldn't be a good roommate if I didn't say so on his behalf. He's pathetically shy, you know.
Many Happy Returns, Barry.
(Get on making our wee little man those happy endings, ladies.)