There are a few things in this world that keep me going: family, red bull and my dog.  While all of those things are enormously valuable, my largest motivation would have to be my friends. Friends are people that back you up in times of need, are loyal to you no matter what, and will give you money.  I try to make friends that will give me money because, as evidenced by one of my previous posts, I need a lot of it.  No, in all seriousness, friends are people who you feel comfortable with and can confide in.  The process of making friends is often a difficult one.  One must find people who they can identify with and who they share things in common.  Thankfully, my new school was filled with people just like me.  Due to the enormous success of this blog and the ridiculous amounts of media attention it has been receiving, I will not name any names, as I fear that those named would have to move to a different country to retain any sense of privacy.  (Julian, it is quite sad that you have such an elevated sense of self-entitlement.  However, everyone agrees with you and of course your blog is the best. No, we’re just joking and it’s very ironic that you write about friends when YOU HAVE NONE.  Whimper.)  However, all of my friends are amazing and unique in so many ways.  I have the wrestler friends that are all mad at me about my post on wrestling.  Then there are my hipster friends that rub their artsiness and obvious superiority in my face.  I have the smart ones who constantly read Al-Jazeera and Newsweek and try to explain how socio-economic situations led to the volatile situation in Northern Turkmenistan. (Don’t worry, nothing is actually happening in Turkmenistan.)  Then there’s the jocks that only talk about football and are unfortunately, very physical.  Finally, there are the popular ones.  They’re not actually my friends; I just like to picture them in that manner.  One day, I hope that everyone will have a group of friends as good as I do.  Actually, it’s not possible.  We’re just too awesome.  (Again with the self-entitlement.)  If the popular kids call, tell them I might just be able to free my schedule to do something with them.  What?  They want me to pick up their laundry?  Who do you think I am?  Some kind of slave?  Wait, are you sure they actually said my name?  What time do they need it by?


About julian822

This blog is informal to say the least. It's almost like an online journal, filled with stories that I find funny, interesting things/links and anything else that comes to my mind. Enjoy.
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