I was cleaning my room and ended up browsing through my high school yearbook, reading the messages and notes that old friends have written in it. One of my closer friends wrote me a short message in a small box. After seeing how little he wrote, I yelled and asked him to write more (on Post-its) as an addendum. What a smart ass...
Via the conversion of sound into cogitation through my auditory canal, I perceive that 1 Mr. Kevin [C] desires that I write more in his annual folio. For this reason, I shall resume ejaculating the boundless praise that he is deserving of. While I may not be exceedingly fond of his visage, I've come to enjoy the company of its twisted features, finding comfort in its striking angularity and pallid hue. This horrid sight is but a prelude, a mask disguising the wonder that is Kevin. I am afraid that a man of my oratory and literary faculties will be unable to accurately convey his greatness, but I shall attempt nevertheless.
Kevin [C] was born in a log cabin in Formosa in 1988 to Taiwanese butternut squash farmers. He soon grew to be a stalwart, a mighty slayer of insects. Then he went to Brooklyn Tech and eventually met Kent. Since then, his overwhelming intellectual and firm grip on reality have markedly diminished, but in the process, gave him some memorable moments with the aforementioned Asian. Hopefully the moments will be cherished long past their occurrences, living forever, chronicled for eternity in both their minds and Gmail mailboxes. Hopefully.
It's funny how stupid and simple things like these can bring such solace when it's being sought.
