A visit from The Fred

What do you get when you cross a competitive tennis-playing animal with a Jordan?
A ping-pong match filled with "OHH my LANTA!!"s and the repeated proclamation, "This is rubbish."

Plus one very pleased Laura, because no matter who loses, she wins in matters of free entertainment and mockability.

What do you get when you cross an All-Idahoan, potato-loving fiend with this Mormon girl from Utah?
An artistically sculpted, deliciously-nutritious loaf of sweet potato bread filled with raisins and walnuts and all sorts of other happy surprises. EAT IT, VIRGINIA!!!!!

What do you get when you combine two ever-hungry beastly runner guys and their "I will eat more than my money's worth or so help me" female sidekick with a restaurant full of all-you-can-eat meat and salad bar?
Nothing to do with said visit from Freddy

An hour of solid green time. That means go go go and don't stop. Those quail eggs, chicken hearts, and sirloin tips weren't going anywhere but down for at least a day, depending on impressiveness of individual digestive systems, and I guess even then it still went down. 
(Please accept my nearly sincere apologies for that unnecessary elaboration.) 

Tucanos, keep up the grilled pineapple and heaven-sent tenderized Brazilian meat and I will court you more intensely than Edward ever courted Bella. Take into account that I will never leave you and I will double in quantity the number of nights spent creepily watching your sleeping merchandise from a chair I will find in the corner after sneaking through a window.

What do you get when you cross two old running buddies who are both insane and haven't seen each other in three months?

Redneck stories about eating roadkill rattlesnakes, riding dumpster-found mattresses down the crick, exploding fruit, and a plethora of pant-tearing tales. Really, a plethora. Like, if I were to count the stories on my right hand of the various missionaries and Walmart sales associates who spied our stripy skivvies this summer (and I thought only girls went for the patterny breed of unders), I would run out of fingers.

What do you get when Virginia is not there to stop you? 

The following plank:

We talked about it, but forgot to actually do this together before Freddy left. 
Er, I mean.....look how small Freddy got real fast?
(and also, Jordan bought a scooter and I wear cool clothing)

1 comment

  1. Oh ho ho. Silly Utah. Planking's for Virginians. And potatoes are for baking, not baking. ("Miners not minors," anyone?) And chicken hearts (and claws, for that matter) are for Mexico. And yams are for yaks. And polka-dotties are for summer. And pink back-of-the-calf leg tats are for secrets. And running buddies are for forever.

    Okay. I wish I was there.



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