Against the old filigreed statements of loyalty, our national director is full of hungers like the hunger for tuna and the hunger for new hair and the hunger for waiting until the woman comes to him. He is fresh and papery. That's a really amazing guy I think.
I can't wait much longer myself because it's not all the wandering urges and plain speaking that I was born into, instead I have this independent spiritual regime I stick to that keeps me loud and radiating like the greatest neutron star.
I got sick. I walked to the national director's house and begged for some money. I got the money from someone and it bought me some tickets for the food contest. I won the food contest and I sold the food to some rotten individuals who didn't deserve it because they were exotic animal smugglers who fed the stuff I sold them to some tigers and parrots and an anteater. I didn't know anteaters ate bologna but apparently, yeah.
I don't know what's going to happen now. Our national director switched to pleated slacks and a lot of us plan on doing it too, but we'll wait a little bit so it's not like we're on the bandwagon, because it's not a good thing to have that reputation. People think you're sucky if you do it, so you hold off and then after the initial wave of the fad has subsided you slip into the menswear outlet and pick up some pleated slacks slyly and wear them to Bennigan's or the place with the big onion.
