i want to be the one to walk in the sun

So I’ve been away again, Internet, not physically so much as mentally. You see, Jake Ryan and I have been practicing and practicing and practicing for our audition — the finals, no less — to be on Dance TV, because we’ve just got to win the prize money and save the recreation center. We’re BFFs, Jake and me.

BFs.

F.

And I don’t care if that rich girl tries to get her daddy to use his money to rig the competition, because you know what’s better than getting mad, rich girl? That’s right; getting even. My BFF and I will take your car apart and reassemble it inside your dorm room so fast it’ll make you wish somebody put baby in a corner.

If only there was a way to make the Colonel understand just how important this is to me. Maybe if he could see me dancing, and how happy I am doing the Pony. Like Bony Maronie.

He’s pretty stern, my pop, but beneath that rough exterior lies a heart of pure butter.

And now, the obligatory boob shot.