Where to start? Let’s see. Well, John and me go all the way back to the beginning. Of college, that is, which, in a lot of ways is the real actual beginning. In highschool I was way too something to learn any real important life lessons, really. But since then, John has been there just about every step of the way, good times and bad, from driving around Baltimore County, listening to Steely Dan and the Stones, to not talking to each other for months, because one or the other was pissed, or just off doing their own thing.

John was, what I call, the first person I met at school. We sat down next to each other in some orientation bullshit, and immediately struck up a conversation about like, Dave Matthews, Larry Coryelle, and “jazz fusion” in general. I know, its a horribly cheesy thing to talk about, but it was the first of many steps in the right direction. Anyways, we immediately hit it off, and I soon found out John hailed from the proud town of Framingham, Mass. Only a few towns over from my legendary birthplace, Worcester, Mass. (Oh how I hate Worcester, Mass.)

Anyway, shit, John and I had so many adventures that I can’t even think of all them right now. I would be here for like three hours typing down just maybe the first ones that come to mind. Maybe a couple days, if I really delved into them. I’ll always appreciate John for teaching me about strip clubs, and explaining the rules of sports to me, and other sorts of manly endeavors like that, which I had somehow missed out on in my own clouded upbringing. Oh, and let’s not forget for opening my eyes to the brilliant ornate wonders of Steely Dan. Shit, where would I be now without John? He’s just one of those things/people/events that I really just can’t imagine how my life would have come out if I had never met him. I would probably be very weird (instead of just kinda weird) and very different, and I would probably still be embarrassed whenever anyone talked about porno, masturbation, explicit sex in general, and oh, let’s not forget that he’s made not afraid to just let a fart rip, instead of squelching it mercillessly, which just can’t be good for you. But yeah, I mean, his farts, like they smell really really really really really really bad sometimes, so it’s been a mixed blessing, but a blessing nonetheless.

Okay, enough of this homo love party! I’m going to hit the showers, and then the hay. Goodnight ladies!