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Neither, wine is gross.
Bean!
My sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Connell.
In the F wing by my locker, Freshman year across from the bathrooms.
Foxes, a wolf would eat my ass alive if I pissed it off but I could probably fend off a fox.
9, 10 on a good day.
Either or, I'm a pretty healthy dude.
Yes, on accident in Alaska, I once kissed my best friend John Michael Clagg, we ran into each other whilst playing tag or hide and seek or something.
Never fall in love again, of course! I won't ever need to. :)
Whatever I feel like.
Don't know, don't care, don't even think it matters for a guy.
I try not to be.
Don't remember.
Gasoline, lilacs, a fresh book and a fresh deck of cards.
Squishy things, rubbery toys, beancheeks, fingernails, sharp corners.
Fur, all the way. Feathers are gross.
Tweed, it's better looking than tartan, and sounds neat.
Neon, leopard print is more for fat 40 year old mothers experiencing a mid-life crisis.
Not exactly?
I've already done way too many of these to think of a new one.
Iceland, Reykjavik to be precise.
Mike's Hard Lemonade.
Nice hands, all feet are universally gross.
My own age.
I don't know what either of those things are referring to, and I'd be a hippie anyway.
Yes, very.
I did, I'm the person I am today because of it.
Fucking awesome Gatsby madness and flappers with risqué clothing that really isn't that risqué anymore.
NO.
Well if I'm trying to make babies then DUH.
"Yes" From Anna Cutaia.
Yup.
Frisbee I guess, or flag football.
My baby.
I don't remember, probably rum mixed with egg nog for Christmas.
Firstly, who in the hell still uses the term "fortnight?" Secondly, I would visit New York for a day, live in Paris and visit London for two weeks.
Straight, yo.
Probably heavy rain.
Fish.
I DO. I'VE ALWAYS WANTED ONE.