Hey Honey, won't you come in for something refreshing? It must be SO hot outside!

John is trying to figure out what to do with his life.

He doesn't know if he should become a landscaper and spend his days smelling like gasoline in a tank-top with cutoff shorts, ogling housewives while making vaguely sexual comments to them that eventually devolve into exasperating lectures about how the phrase "trimming the bushes" was actually meant quite innocently when they were really just playing coy in the first place and thought he looked cute, even if he did seem a little dumb, but now he's totally missed his chance at getting a "something refreshing" inside

or,

if he should go to Spain where he will undoubtedly get arrested for working without a Visa. It's not that you can't get away with working in Spain without a Visa, it's just that John literally can't get away with any prank or mischief without wetting his pants in the foreign embassy. Last time we tried drinking the streets from Styrofoam cups on Cinco de Mayo, John had to be forcibly removed from the pant-leg of the Czech ambassador (who turned out to be a totally great guy who drank Svijany with us in the park and turned away some police officers with his diplomatic immunity), but not before John left a terrible stain on his carpet and ended up in the drunk tank hunched over like a soggy waffle.

Clubbing

Also, apparently John went clubbing last night.

This is what I imagine it looked like.

Texting = Sex

I just showed John this article: Social networking leads to sex faster?

If you don't want to read it, I will tell you, it's about how texting and social media has led to people going to bed together faster.

Then John told me he had to go because he was getting a text from his dog.

What do you make of this?