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Saturday, October 29, 2011

A tough-looking gang of girls just rode past my house on pink bikes.

I'd like to start this post by announcing that I do NOT have 200 lb balls. According to my blog stats, someone did a Google search regarding such a thing and it led them here. Allow me to lay those rumors to rest right now. My balls are mostly average.

Moving on...

Since we moved into this house

GRR! My wife just walked into the room, turned my music down so low that I can't hear it, and then left the room. Drives me nuts...

Since we moved into this house I've gone from an embarrassing 225 lbs to a slightly less embarrassing 215 lbs. I attribute my weight-loss success to a strict regimen of cherry cola and Halloween candy.

About six weeks ago my wife bought 1,800 rolls of the cheapest toilet paper in the world. She has admitted her error but makes ridiculous statements like, "Well, we can't just throw it away," and "Just double it up." Oh, good. So more of a bad thing suddenly becomes a good thing. Continuing to use this product is like hearing from your doctor that you have lung cancer, but you've still got an entire carton of cigarettes left and it would be wasteful to throw them out, so...

Right now I'm reading the autobiography Girls Can't Be Pilots by Margaret Ringenberg. So far I think she might be wrong because she was a pilot and a girl. Actually, Mrs. Ringenberg was the grandmother of my childhood best friend, Joe Wright. I even had the chance to ride in her plane as part of Joe's eighth birthday celebration. I was sick for two weeks following, but I doubt it was the pilot's fault.

I must go now because it's been three weeks and we still haven't managed to get our van in the garage. It has been strongly implied that this is my fault.

Thank you,
      Matt Beers

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