Last night I was out with The Johann.
He tells a girl that they might be on the same flight out of town this weekend, because he (and I, though I'm not actually going) is going to Afghanistan.
When asked about Afghanistan, he claims that it's "customary" to wear short, short, short denim shorts with the pockets hanging below the cutoff point. And that you need a pocketful of change ($4.45 to be exact) to ward off the Taliban, because they really like $4.45.
Also, you're supposed to grease your chest up and bring a spyglass. When you step off the plane you're to stop, pull out your spyglass, and scan the horizon for Taliban.
Oh, and also bring a nitelight he says.
Later in the evening, a girl (hammered) tells me that she's on Team America for sprinting. I call BS. She stands firm.
Fast forward to five minutes later, shoes and socks off, with someone standing at one end of the (busy) street with their arms up. Yup, we had ourselves a footrace, which I'm proud to report that I won handily- despite her early start.
Then I conned girls into buying me beer.
Caleb "won a footrace" Shreves