Best Friend, Liz

While attending the second of my four colleges due to my inability to commit to anything, I met best friend, Liz.  To me she is known as “Liz Friggin‘ Dupont.”  This is her:

We met because she was eating tuna in the hallway, and it smelled.  I said something along the lines of, “dude, you’re tuna is stinking up this hallway, and do you by chance have an extra tampon?”  We have been friends every since.  Our love for each other is very distinct because it involves nothing kind nor gentle.  She knows though, that when I say, “hey, you...stupid who sucks at everything,”  I am really expressing affection for her dumb, fat face.  Whoever could express their hate in the most creative way would win.  Whenever true compliments arise, it tends to confuse the both of us, so we just stick to what we’re good at doing: malicious bashing.  Life was good.  I would often open my locker to find notes that said things like “Hey Ass, Wanna become a castrati monk with me?” Liz must be really stupid if she didn’t know that I don’t have any testicles to remove to make me sing soprano, but it sounded like fun.  Then Liz Friggin’ Dupont had some terrible news:

Liz: “I’m moving to Missouri to go to school!”

Whitney: “You’re an idiot.”

Liz: “No I really am!  I’m going to be a percussion ninja.”

Whitney: “Not if I knock you out and tie you to my tree.”

Liz: “You can’t knock me out because I’m a ninja. Plus, you don’t have a tree.”

Whitney: “Up yours.”

Since I didn’t have a tree at the time and couldn’t manage to obtain one because they are expensive and I had nowhere to plant it, Liz escaped and moved.  We live in Michigan, so when you look at the map, Missouri is pretty dang far away:

If I want to drive to Missouri, I have to pass through some serious crap to get there, and I am just not willing to make this sacrifice.

Liz took off to Missouri to be a percussion ninja, so naturally she got engaged instead:

So yes, Austin proposed and they’re all like “in love” or something and they “want to get married really soon.” This is fine I suppose because then our evil plan is going to begin to take its course.  In the next couple years, once it’s finally hit me that I am neither a decent musician, composer, or conductor, I will be willing to give up and have a couple of these guys:

Liz and I have a plan to have enough of these to start separate armies.  Then our baby/child armies will fight while we drink lemonade....maybe even lemonade with copious amounts of alcohol which we can dub, “grown-up lemonade.”

We probably wouldn’t have the kids using legitimate weapons, but I haven’t discussed this with Liz which means it can’t be ruled out.  I can see her wanting to equip her child with a mace or a cauldron of boiling oil.  We might need to have an ambulance on stand-by for situations such as these:

To which I would probably reply:

And I am going to end this here because I have come to realize that I should never have children which means that none of this will ever happen.

-Whitney