<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DEECR3c9eSp7ImA9WhZQFEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633</id><updated>2011-04-22T00:31:06.961-04:00</updated><category term="self-propelled power trip" /><category term="good looking enough to get away with anything" /><category term="what went right?" /><category term="trainwreck of a loinspawn" /><category term="overesposure" /><category term="sucks to be you" /><category term="lying in wait" /><category term="having more fun than you" /><category term="completely understandable" /><category term="right place wrong time" /><category term="lives with parents" /><category term="what went wrong?" /><category term="misunderstood from day one" /><category term="overly sensitive" /><category term="overexposure" /><category term="inevitable" /><category term="no execution" /><category term="ahead of the curve" /><category term="stay far away" /><category term="lucky bastard" /><category term="ah…siblings" /><category term="bad seed" /><category term="perfect couples" /><category term="clumsy finesse" /><category term="used to be fun" /><category term="ah..siblings" /><category term="absolutely not" /><category term="has it coming" /><category term="blame it on genetics" /><category term="good time any age" /><category term="lucky bastards" /><category term="alone for life" /><category term="deserve each other" /><category term="parenting gone astray" /><category term="heart in right place" /><title>Fast Forward</title><subtitle type="html">Racing through time at the speed of life</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>54</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/ZYHS" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/zyhs" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8HRX49eCp7ImA9WxVQEEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5533695815125832673</id><published>2009-01-27T08:23:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T08:27:14.060-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-27T08:27:14.060-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="clumsy finesse" /><title>Muffle that Double Take</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SX8LhLHSvFI/AAAAAAAAAP0/EUaATFO4C8k/s1600-h/can%27t+believe+what+I+see1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295964351357959250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SX8LhLHSvFI/AAAAAAAAAP0/EUaATFO4C8k/s320/can%27t+believe+what+I+see1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Whenever Peter Brady would see a pretty girl, a cool motorcycle, or a guy who looked like he smelled good, he’d overreact. He sometimes even yelled things, or just kind of squealed about it being time for change and something he needed to go rearrange. “Be cool, Peter,” his friends always said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SX8LXOJpwWI/AAAAAAAAAPs/jm8PSSQUlfc/s1600-h/bad+news2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5295964180374471010" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 289px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SX8LXOJpwWI/AAAAAAAAAPs/jm8PSSQUlfc/s320/bad+news2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And here’s Peter a few months ago, witnessing a rare trifecta: a really cool motorcycle occupied by a bodacious babe, driven by a guy who looked like the scent of heaven was dripping from his broad shoulders. Luckily, years of pinching and under the table kicks by his wife have given Mr. Brady the ability, if not to be cool, at least to pull it in a little bit. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5533695815125832673?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/-U0vcpPTXZM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5533695815125832673/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5533695815125832673" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5533695815125832673?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5533695815125832673?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/-U0vcpPTXZM/muffle-that-double-take.html" title="Muffle that Double Take" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SX8LhLHSvFI/AAAAAAAAAP0/EUaATFO4C8k/s72-c/can%27t+believe+what+I+see1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2009/01/muffle-that-double-take.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkAGQXwzeSp7ImA9WxVSE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-6681246637077673606</id><published>2009-01-07T08:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T08:25:20.281-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-01-07T08:25:20.281-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="absolutely not" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><title>Listen To Me Now And Hair Me Later</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SWSs2oLabDI/AAAAAAAAAPk/b75ILaRrPSE/s1600-h/big+hair1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288541916938005554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SWSs2oLabDI/AAAAAAAAAPk/b75ILaRrPSE/s320/big+hair1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Candace loved her some beehive. In fact, she was the first girl in her small Texas hometown to include the festive bow feature, and was voted “most likely to always have big hair” when she graduated from high school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SWSsqJRC_eI/AAAAAAAAAPc/jGgYAQxiGss/s1600-h/bighair2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288541702481706466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 258px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SWSsqJRC_eI/AAAAAAAAAPc/jGgYAQxiGss/s320/bighair2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;That was over forty years ago and as we all know, a lot of things change in our lives once we’re out of our teens. For Candace, some of those changes involved hardscrabble times; sex, drugs and rock-n-roll; and even doing without necessities on occasion. But she’s held her ground steadfastly on the hair front. Sure, it might be a cheesy wig from Salvation Army, but her hair is still big. She bets it’s bigger than yours. There’s probably a bow in there somewhere as well. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-6681246637077673606?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/Rg12SrMJapY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/6681246637077673606/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=6681246637077673606" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/6681246637077673606?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/6681246637077673606?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/Rg12SrMJapY/listen-to-me-now-and-hair-me-later.html" title="Listen To Me Now And Hair Me Later" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SWSs2oLabDI/AAAAAAAAAPk/b75ILaRrPSE/s72-c/big+hair1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2009/01/listen-to-me-now-and-hair-me-later.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUYGQ3k8fCp7ImA9WxVTEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-3621919524789029242</id><published>2008-12-23T09:36:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T09:38:42.774-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-23T09:38:42.774-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sucks to be you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="what went wrong?" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stay far away" /><title>Santa Baby</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SVD3uSKtpnI/AAAAAAAAAPU/TEHhx7Wio0g/s1600-h/first+time+on+santas+lap.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282994737428407922" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 315px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SVD3uSKtpnI/AAAAAAAAAPU/TEHhx7Wio0g/s320/first+time+on+santas+lap.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Gavin liked everything about Santa. His proportions, his smile, the fact that he clearly loved kids—everything about Santa seemed perfect. Even the fact that after sitting on Santa’s lap, Gavin found his pants unzipped and didn’t notice until he’d posed for this picture with his new favorite hero could not dissuade Gavin’s ardor. “I’m gonna be just like that when I grow up!” he thought, excitedly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SVD3lfTzFHI/AAAAAAAAAPM/PSArffiHoMw/s1600-h/drunken+santa.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282994586337350770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 246px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SVD3lfTzFHI/AAAAAAAAAPM/PSArffiHoMw/s320/drunken+santa.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And he wasn’t far off at all! Here’s Gavin late last night. If he can make it through today and tomorrow, he gets a bonus and one of the elves, but he’d better make it to the mall pretty soon. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-3621919524789029242?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/nE4LlSpFna0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/3621919524789029242/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=3621919524789029242" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/3621919524789029242?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/3621919524789029242?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/nE4LlSpFna0/santa-baby.html" title="Santa Baby" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SVD3uSKtpnI/AAAAAAAAAPU/TEHhx7Wio0g/s72-c/first+time+on+santas+lap.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/12/santa-baby.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkQERn0-fSp7ImA9WxRaEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-7443935548529358589</id><published>2008-12-12T11:34:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T11:45:07.355-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-12T11:45:07.355-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="having more fun than you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trainwreck of a loinspawn" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="overexposure" /><title>Turn And Face The Strange</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SUKS5zD8_AI/AAAAAAAAAPE/gWFPT2T1j4U/s1600-h/belt+buckle+bulge1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278943234888629250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 125px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SUKS5zD8_AI/AAAAAAAAAPE/gWFPT2T1j4U/s320/belt+buckle+bulge1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Mario (“the original super Mario,” as he self-refers) rocked the ‘70s like almost no one else with an inimitable style that was truly his own, at least in the small town where he grew up. This particular outfit was responsible for at least one unwanted offspring that he’s aware of. But then, one magical night in the dark men’s room of a disco dive, what he thought was going to be blow turned out to be something completely different, and Mario never looked back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SUKSrjqjo-I/AAAAAAAAAO8/SEt4CD7OmmM/s1600-h/belt+buckle+bulge2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278942990237410274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SUKSrjqjo-I/AAAAAAAAAO8/SEt4CD7OmmM/s320/belt+buckle+bulge2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having held on to his vanity firmly, Mario did not want his photo taken now that he’s gotten older. Instead he let me get this shot of his current boy toy. It’s all about the belt buckle and the bulge, but Mario could have told you that thirty years ago.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-7443935548529358589?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/ZGNG3TzS3sQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/7443935548529358589/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=7443935548529358589" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7443935548529358589?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7443935548529358589?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/ZGNG3TzS3sQ/turn-and-face-strange.html" title="Turn And Face The Strange" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SUKS5zD8_AI/AAAAAAAAAPE/gWFPT2T1j4U/s72-c/belt+buckle+bulge1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/12/turn-and-face-strange.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0IBQ30zeCp7ImA9WxRbGE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-8479284262669498056</id><published>2008-12-09T08:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T08:32:32.380-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-09T08:32:32.380-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ah…siblings" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><title>Life Is A Highway</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/ST5zQF8PXhI/AAAAAAAAAO0/QG2ZfjvmamM/s1600-h/five+tough+dudes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277782533634743826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/ST5zQF8PXhI/AAAAAAAAAO0/QG2ZfjvmamM/s320/five+tough+dudes.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Back when they were in their prime, the Melendez boys were a kick-ass force with which to be reckoned. They liked their women wild, their pants tight, their liquor strong, and their nights ugly. The other kids feared them for years. But then Chipmunk started wearing that Amish-y beard and hat and smiling all the time. Soon after that Shel started doing that shirt-mostly-unbuttoned thing and spending too much time on his hair. Paco, Slider and Thorsten tried to hold onto their cool, but it was too late. The family reputation went to hell in a handbasket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/ST5zH-tIhyI/AAAAAAAAAOs/ssJjdHVWGNA/s1600-h/five+surly+youves2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277782394253379362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/ST5zH-tIhyI/AAAAAAAAAOs/ssJjdHVWGNA/s320/five+surly+youves2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here’s a picture of a rare family reunion last week. Paco desperately turned to an eyepatch, trying to bring back the glory days, but it was useless. Shel grew a homosexual moustache and developed a terrible case of osteoporosis. Slider tried to show Chipmunk what a proper beard and hat combo should look like, but Chipmunk shaved and started drinking his coke without the Jack. Worst of all, Thorsten bought himself some polo shirts and started showering every day. Paco’s smiling in this picture, but he cried himself to sleep that night.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-8479284262669498056?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/i0BVM4hW1Y4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/8479284262669498056/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=8479284262669498056" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8479284262669498056?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8479284262669498056?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/i0BVM4hW1Y4/life-is-highway.html" title="Life Is A Highway" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/ST5zQF8PXhI/AAAAAAAAAO0/QG2ZfjvmamM/s72-c/five+tough+dudes.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/12/life-is-highway.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkAHRXY_eyp7ImA9WxRbFEo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-4642008672642715637</id><published>2008-12-05T07:03:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T07:05:34.843-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-05T07:05:34.843-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting gone astray" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="misunderstood from day one" /><title>You Can Dress Me Up, But</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STkY3RlwELI/AAAAAAAAAOk/1kCALW9JfMs/s1600-h/cross+dressing+chris1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276275776334860466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 192px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STkY3RlwELI/AAAAAAAAAOk/1kCALW9JfMs/s320/cross+dressing+chris1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It started out simply enough. Chris’ parents knew he was a boy, but he had such a pretty face. His mom didn’t think the shoes were all that girly, and pointed out that canes and buckets were male accessories. However, when she made him the tunic top, even his dad, who usually said nothing, put up a fuss. Mom prevailed, but there’s no story in that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STkYuyF7pRI/AAAAAAAAAOc/C3hye4SFrFI/s1600-h/cross+dressing+chris2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276275630440949010" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 179px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STkYuyF7pRI/AAAAAAAAAOc/C3hye4SFrFI/s320/cross+dressing+chris2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But Chris liked the shoe style, and the tunic. It’s hard to find an exact assimilation of his favorite childhood outfit, but he does his best. He wishes his mother had thought of the matching socks, which really pull the whole thing together. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-4642008672642715637?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/xl5VE3QDG24" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/4642008672642715637/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=4642008672642715637" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4642008672642715637?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4642008672642715637?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/xl5VE3QDG24/you-can-dress-me-up-but.html" title="You Can Dress Me Up, But" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STkY3RlwELI/AAAAAAAAAOk/1kCALW9JfMs/s72-c/cross+dressing+chris1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/12/you-can-dress-me-up-but.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4AQ308eip7ImA9WxRbEk8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5465485497286350080</id><published>2008-12-02T08:30:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T08:35:42.372-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-02T08:35:42.372-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="no execution" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><title>Learning Curve</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STU4449a2DI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ATO8tKR4aZQ/s1600-h/bad+sweater+family+of+four.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275185088548231218" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STU4449a2DI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ATO8tKR4aZQ/s320/bad+sweater+family+of+four.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When Patrick was growing up, he thought it was cool when Mom broke out the “family sweaters,” and they’d all go to a museum or a zoo and everyone there would know they were related. If Patrick or his sister ever got lost, they were much easier to find. It was a '70s thing...you had to be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STU4vvAH6eI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dAFV_V-3utk/s1600-h/bad+sweater2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275184931256396258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STU4vvAH6eI/AAAAAAAAAOM/dAFV_V-3utk/s320/bad+sweater2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Bad clothing habits are some of the hardest to break, and Patrick's uncanny ability to find a bad sweater is undiminished. He also still tries to find four-packs, but they’re increasingly rare. The one thing that’s changed is Patrick’s sense of self-identity: now he likes wearing the same sweater as the rest of his family, but not on the same day. And this is the first time he agreed to be photographed alone. Wait until he really blossoms! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5465485497286350080?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/91gTyEoOP5s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5465485497286350080/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5465485497286350080" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5465485497286350080?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5465485497286350080?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/91gTyEoOP5s/learning-curve.html" title="Learning Curve" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/STU4449a2DI/AAAAAAAAAOU/ATO8tKR4aZQ/s72-c/bad+sweater+family+of+four.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/12/learning-curve.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkIGQHo7fSp7ImA9WxVTEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-4275046734673710587</id><published>2008-11-28T09:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T10:02:01.405-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-12-23T10:02:01.405-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stay far away" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="perfect couples" /><title>Shot Through The Heart And You're To Blame</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6po49gOI/AAAAAAAAAOE/l0vgxCSPYRM/s1600-h/gun++couple1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273709281932050658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6po49gOI/AAAAAAAAAOE/l0vgxCSPYRM/s320/gun++couple1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It was love at first sight when Tammy and Gray met that day at the shooting range. Within hours they’d disappeared into the wilderness, and all anyone heard for hours were rounds and rounds of ammunition being fired. Tammy only pretended to need steadying; she was actually a much better shot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6idf1iOI/AAAAAAAAAN8/oEI_CSMdK3c/s1600-h/avenger2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273709158614796514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6idf1iOI/AAAAAAAAAN8/oEI_CSMdK3c/s320/avenger2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Gray still appreciates a good old gun. He added a scabbard to his repertoire the same year he picked up the nifty scarf/ascot technique shown here—he might live in a trailer, but that doesn’t keep him from lookin’ like a world traveler. He’s basically a nice guy, but doesn’t like to be caught off guard, that’s all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6aJRDu4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/d1X35rGPy2E/s1600-h/annie+go+get+your+gun2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273709015745149826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 201px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6aJRDu4I/AAAAAAAAAN0/d1X35rGPy2E/s320/annie+go+get+your+gun2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tammy has upgraded her guns with the years, and thinks concealed weapons are for sissies. The local Kmart won’t let her in any more, and she’s about to give them a piece of her mind, then head on over to Wal-mart to try her luck. She is the NRA.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-4275046734673710587?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/ywjifEjqTX0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/4275046734673710587/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=4275046734673710587" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4275046734673710587?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4275046734673710587?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/ywjifEjqTX0/shot-through-heart-and-youre-to-blame.html" title="Shot Through The Heart And You're To Blame" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS_6po49gOI/AAAAAAAAAOE/l0vgxCSPYRM/s72-c/gun++couple1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/shot-through-heart-and-youre-to-blame.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE4MRn47eCp7ImA9WxRUF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-8596121268456889024</id><published>2008-11-26T11:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T11:29:47.000-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-26T11:29:47.000-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stay far away" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="self-propelled power trip" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="overexposure" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="bad seed" /><title>What Napoleon Complex?</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS14nvATj_I/AAAAAAAAANs/rZwI_bUZ35E/s1600-h/bikerbabe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273003362748698610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 220px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS14nvATj_I/AAAAAAAAANs/rZwI_bUZ35E/s320/bikerbabe.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Nat was a tough kid from the wrong side of the tracks. He did a lot of hard living by the time he was 10, and by then his parents learned that smoking had stunted his growth. He’d also been left back in school twice, while graduating from two rehab programs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS14XNQ74uI/AAAAAAAAANk/3BXACLKxnRs/s1600-h/punkass2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273003078813737698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS14XNQ74uI/AAAAAAAAANk/3BXACLKxnRs/s320/punkass2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, maybe he’s not the tallest dude in town. Wanna make something of it? Don’t think he wouldn’t attack you like a ferocious pit bull. Really piss him off and he'll talk his friend Manny into helping him kick your ass. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-8596121268456889024?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/1aPegdid2ZU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/8596121268456889024/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=8596121268456889024" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8596121268456889024?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8596121268456889024?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/1aPegdid2ZU/what-napoleon-complex.html" title="What Napoleon Complex?" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SS14nvATj_I/AAAAAAAAANs/rZwI_bUZ35E/s72-c/bikerbabe.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-napoleon-complex.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0ECRXY_cSp7ImA9WxRUEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-3232613060620159957</id><published>2008-11-20T14:58:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T15:07:44.849-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-20T15:07:44.849-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sucks to be you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trainwreck of a loinspawn" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="overexposure" /><title>Work It</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSXCQRvwV6I/AAAAAAAAANc/OuSha9p_bE8/s1600-h/deejay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270832523804432290" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 313px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSXCQRvwV6I/AAAAAAAAANc/OuSha9p_bE8/s320/deejay.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;From the time he was just a little tyke Anthony’s nickname was Tinker, because he liked to play with machines, take them apart and turn them into something better. Even his amblyopia didn’t slow him down. Here he is with his first turntable; he’d built his first mixer within weeks, before anyone even knew what they were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSXCHeoaqBI/AAAAAAAAANU/c4dYzVKO97E/s1600-h/deejay2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270832372644489234" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSXCHeoaqBI/AAAAAAAAANU/c4dYzVKO97E/s320/deejay2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tinker still has sort of a lazy eye, and one of the world’s laziest bodies. He spends his days hanging around the house, mostly undressed, working on his various inventions. This one’s going to be a combination back-shaver and stretch mark remover. When he’s done tweaking it, he’s going to make millions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-3232613060620159957?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/33IlUU15wOU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/3232613060620159957/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=3232613060620159957" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/3232613060620159957?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/3232613060620159957?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/33IlUU15wOU/work-it.html" title="Work It" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSXCQRvwV6I/AAAAAAAAANc/OuSha9p_bE8/s72-c/deejay.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/work-it.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUGQns_fip7ImA9WxRUEU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-8829172358474166962</id><published>2008-11-19T10:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T10:23:43.546-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-19T10:23:43.546-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="heart in right place" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blame it on genetics" /><title>ADD...Not Just For Adults</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSQvPeQOycI/AAAAAAAAANM/mBc5dF-Gkko/s1600-h/something+in+the+distance1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270389406796007874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSQvPeQOycI/AAAAAAAAANM/mBc5dF-Gkko/s320/something+in+the+distance1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Saul was a thoughtful dude. You’d be talking to him, and suddenly he’d be staring off into space, clearly thinking about something else. He didn’t mean to seem rude, or to imply that you weren’t interesting. He just had a lot on his mind. Always.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSQvHmwW7fI/AAAAAAAAANE/yeFuHwPkEDY/s1600-h/something+in+the+distance2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270389271639289330" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSQvHmwW7fI/AAAAAAAAANE/yeFuHwPkEDY/s320/something+in+the+distance2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And he’s still the exact same way. His wife and co-workers are continually annoyed by his inability to focus or follow through, but somewhere along the way he has picked up kind of a reputation as a genius, so everyone just waits when he gets this look on his face. He’ll be back, and when he’s back he’ll probably have another million dollar idea in his back pocket.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-8829172358474166962?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/3xxDNq6XopY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/8829172358474166962/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=8829172358474166962" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8829172358474166962?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8829172358474166962?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/3xxDNq6XopY/addnot-just-for-adults.html" title="ADD...Not Just For Adults" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSQvPeQOycI/AAAAAAAAANM/mBc5dF-Gkko/s72-c/something+in+the+distance1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/addnot-just-for-adults.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YARXkzeCp7ImA9WxRUEEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-7273763469768458831</id><published>2008-11-18T09:35:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T09:39:04.780-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-18T09:39:04.780-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ahead of the curve" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="clumsy finesse" /><title>Some Pain, Some Gain</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSLTUJazfdI/AAAAAAAAAM8/PQ1GDYKtQec/s1600-h/two+women+with+wide+stride1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270006857056091602" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 248px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSLTUJazfdI/AAAAAAAAAM8/PQ1GDYKtQec/s320/two+women+with+wide+stride1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tracy and Rayann knew they were a little out of shape, and started working out the summer they turned thirteen. Rayann’s older sister told them they’d never get anywhere, but agreed to take their picture. She was always one of the popular girls; she’d never understand. “Rayann, with cellulite-covered thighs like those, you’re screwed for life,” she said, tossing her hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSLTJJZpvXI/AAAAAAAAAM0/61tWgHtcyEY/s1600-h/two+women+with+wide+stride2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270006668072697202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 260px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSLTJJZpvXI/AAAAAAAAAM0/61tWgHtcyEY/s320/two+women+with+wide+stride2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But working out really does pay off if one is persistent, and now Rayann (on the left) and Tracy (center) are professional retro models, trying to make the clothes of yesteryear popular once more. And you can see from the look they’re getting from their jealous cohort that they’ve really got their act together. You go, girls. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-7273763469768458831?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/kcc7ufX_5EA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/7273763469768458831/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=7273763469768458831" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7273763469768458831?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7273763469768458831?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/kcc7ufX_5EA/some-pain-some-gain.html" title="Some Pain, Some Gain" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSLTUJazfdI/AAAAAAAAAM8/PQ1GDYKtQec/s72-c/two+women+with+wide+stride1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/some-pain-some-gain.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UDRXgyeSp7ImA9WxRVGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5865689036562171569</id><published>2008-11-17T14:10:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T14:14:34.691-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-17T14:14:34.691-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="absolutely not" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lives with parents" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="what went wrong?" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting gone astray" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="blame it on genetics" /><title>Got Milk?</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSHCBPYciWI/AAAAAAAAAMs/qTc3Su3wxZc/s1600-h/got+milk+with+dad1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269706365564914018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 212px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSHCBPYciWI/AAAAAAAAAMs/qTc3Su3wxZc/s320/got+milk+with+dad1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Dev always went to the store with Dad, but wouldn’t let Dad stand in line beside him. It was bad enough listening to the totally uncool stream of racist bullshit that Dad was always spouting. Dev tried to stare at the elaborate linoleum floor pattern at the A&amp;amp;P and pretend he had a free-thinking, open-minded parent who fit in with the times. What had Mom ever seen in this oily gas bag?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSHB2lEPjYI/AAAAAAAAAMk/y7Xelev2bAE/s1600-h/got+milk+with+dad2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269706182407196034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 306px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSHB2lEPjYI/AAAAAAAAAMk/y7Xelev2bAE/s320/got+milk+with+dad2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;But after Mom died, everything changed. Dad started using rogaine, wearing wifebeaters, and then there was the Hitler moustache. You’d think he would have been more embarrassing than ever, but by this time not only had Dev gotten used to it, he’d halfway started believing Dad’s spewings, and even sharing his wifebeaters. Dev…you oughta be ashamed of yourself. Hope you become as intolerant of lactose as you are of everything else. And lose the mullet! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5865689036562171569?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/3rEb1hDll-A" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5865689036562171569/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5865689036562171569" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5865689036562171569?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5865689036562171569?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/3rEb1hDll-A/got-milk.html" title="Got Milk?" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SSHCBPYciWI/AAAAAAAAAMs/qTc3Su3wxZc/s72-c/got+milk+with+dad1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/got-milk.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUMNSXo_fip7ImA9WxRVFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-632962782296526906</id><published>2008-11-14T15:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T16:18:18.446-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-14T16:18:18.446-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="alone for life" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="what went wrong?" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trainwreck of a loinspawn" /><title>Gimme an F</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SR3iNyyaVGI/AAAAAAAAAMc/SxRf1_hhI3A/s1600-h/cherry+cheerleader.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268615865692738658" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 272px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SR3iNyyaVGI/AAAAAAAAAMc/SxRf1_hhI3A/s320/cherry+cheerleader.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Felicia was the most popular cheerleader in the tri-county area. Policemen, cowboys and Indians were lining up to watch her perform her sassy moves. One year at Homecoming she didn’t wear panties, and was gossiped out of town soon after...but you should have heard the crowd roar that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SR3h6Pt28PI/AAAAAAAAAMU/wu9D9XBY2LU/s1600-h/cherry+cheerleader2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268615529860886770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 202px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SR3h6Pt28PI/AAAAAAAAAMU/wu9D9XBY2LU/s320/cherry+cheerleader2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Time's done nothing to diminish Felicia’s fiery fierceness. She’s still cheering for her favorite team, has her own fan club, and is still giving the crowd a free show at least once a year, despite the fact that they boo and beg her to stop.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-632962782296526906?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/x5PzULYb8kM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/632962782296526906/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=632962782296526906" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/632962782296526906?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/632962782296526906?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/x5PzULYb8kM/gimme-f.html" title="Gimme an F" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SR3iNyyaVGI/AAAAAAAAAMc/SxRf1_hhI3A/s72-c/cherry+cheerleader.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/gimme-f.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8DQnY5cCp7ImA9WxRVFk0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5452228166653990934</id><published>2008-11-13T13:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T14:01:13.828-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-13T14:01:13.828-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenting gone astray" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="no execution" /><title>Once A Fauxhawk...</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRx4qw3S7iI/AAAAAAAAAMM/IjbSjfZliKg/s1600-h/it%27s+my+hair1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268218340183305762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRx4qw3S7iI/AAAAAAAAAMM/IjbSjfZliKg/s320/it%27s+my+hair1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When Rog was little, his parents thought it was cute to brush his hair like this and take pictures, but it sent him a message: this is a great way to get attention!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRx4i1AVzEI/AAAAAAAAAME/ogsbBCgyYeY/s1600-h/its+my+hair2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268218203856030786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRx4i1AVzEI/AAAAAAAAAME/ogsbBCgyYeY/s320/its+my+hair2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Message received. That’s why, in addition to the hair, Rog has also worked some bling and a little crotch-fondlin’ into the attention-getting mix. It still works, but not for the reasons he thinks it does.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5452228166653990934?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/WK9_f7LjNCc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5452228166653990934/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5452228166653990934" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5452228166653990934?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5452228166653990934?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/WK9_f7LjNCc/once-fauxhawk.html" title="Once A Fauxhawk..." /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRx4qw3S7iI/AAAAAAAAAMM/IjbSjfZliKg/s72-c/it%27s+my+hair1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/once-fauxhawk.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMBQXgzcCp7ImA9WxRVFUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-4841296210983788005</id><published>2008-11-12T13:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T13:10:50.688-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-12T13:10:50.688-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lying in wait" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ah…siblings" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="completely understandable" /><title>Unfair To Compare</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRsboKkiyaI/AAAAAAAAAL8/eSgMlKytOdg/s1600-h/momma+likes+her+better.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267834565986273698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 254px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRsboKkiyaI/AAAAAAAAAL8/eSgMlKytOdg/s320/momma+likes+her+better.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Even when Danielle and Elise were babies, it was clear that some favoritism was going on. Danielle almost always had big scabs like this on her head and/or scrapes and bruises elsewhere because Mom was so busy doting on Elise that she never noticed Danielle’s tumbles and falls until it was too late. Danielle was clearly displeased with the inequality. Mom didn’t even kiss it and make it better.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRsbgDpe9FI/AAAAAAAAAL0/sbm2os9ca1o/s1600-h/mom+likes+her+best2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267834426688992338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRsbgDpe9FI/AAAAAAAAAL0/sbm2os9ca1o/s320/mom+likes+her+best2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;And when Mom’s picked a favorite, it pretty much lasts forever. But siblings can and will have their own brand of justice. That’s why, as loved and pampered as she might still be, Elise now has a broken arm. Danielle is laughing about it because she’s the one who broke it. She's also learned: you’re never too young for revenge. By the time she’s in 10th grade, Danielle will have her own apartment. Elise will live with Mom until she’s in her late 40s. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-4841296210983788005?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/7JCgDQM_jhA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/4841296210983788005/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=4841296210983788005" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4841296210983788005?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4841296210983788005?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/7JCgDQM_jhA/unfair-to-compare.html" title="Unfair To Compare" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRsboKkiyaI/AAAAAAAAAL8/eSgMlKytOdg/s72-c/momma+likes+her+better.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/unfair-to-compare.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MNSHc8eCp7ImA9WxRVFE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-2249437149062803467</id><published>2008-11-11T12:39:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T12:44:59.970-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-11T12:44:59.970-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="perfect couples" /><title>Still Greatful After All These Years</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnEEi9sG5I/AAAAAAAAALs/54nkxDuMFT4/s1600-h/deadhead1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267456821570575250" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 282px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnEEi9sG5I/AAAAAAAAALs/54nkxDuMFT4/s320/deadhead1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When Chad met&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnD7j_v7FI/AAAAAAAAALk/aj6YnM8c2EQ/s1600-h/grateful1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267456667228826706" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnD7j_v7FI/AAAAAAAAALk/aj6YnM8c2EQ/s320/grateful1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Brad, they knew it was a fan-match made in heaven. They became total Deadheads, devoting their entire lives to it. They quit only after…well, they still can’t bear to talk about it, except to say that without Jerry, their lives will never be the same, after which they usually dissolve into tears and end up hugging each other in a manly way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnDnN6X32I/AAAAAAAAALc/PU7YnykwJIs/s1600-h/grateful2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267456317703315298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 239px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnDnN6X32I/AAAAAAAAALc/PU7YnykwJIs/s320/grateful2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now they attempt to relive the glory years, seeing no other options, and liking no other bands. Here they are last week having a sublime virtual reality experience—they’re watching the 5/8/77 concert at Cornell University, which is where they first met. Here’s to the old times, guys! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-2249437149062803467?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/lmUegZlHw6w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/2249437149062803467/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=2249437149062803467" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/2249437149062803467?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/2249437149062803467?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/lmUegZlHw6w/still-greatful-after-all-these-years.html" title="Still Greatful After All These Years" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRnEEi9sG5I/AAAAAAAAALs/54nkxDuMFT4/s72-c/deadhead1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/still-greatful-after-all-these-years.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEAFQ3o6cCp7ImA9WxRVE04.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-8161920705829111341</id><published>2008-11-10T12:02:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T12:05:12.418-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-10T12:05:12.418-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sucks to be you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="stay far away" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><title>La La La La I Can't Hear You</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRhphqUeZVI/AAAAAAAAALU/PsbCWkzZ3UA/s1600-h/denial1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267075791226561874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 310px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRhphqUeZVI/AAAAAAAAALU/PsbCWkzZ3UA/s320/denial1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Jack just wanted to play outside all the time, like most kids. When his mom would call him aside and explain that it was time for him to do his chores, or to go to school, he’d invariably respond by pretending he couldn’t hear her. “What? Time for school? You must be speakin’ Spanish!” he’d say, pretending not to understand. But eventually his mother forced him to see things from her point of view.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRhpYDZsS0I/AAAAAAAAALM/O9x_pOwRqQ8/s1600-h/denial2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267075626160638786" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 241px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRhpYDZsS0I/AAAAAAAAALM/O9x_pOwRqQ8/s320/denial2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Jack would still rather play outside all the time, but ongoing exposure to school, a boring job, a nagging wife, chores, and the other onuses of adulthood have taken their toll, robbing his spirit of fun; all work and no play have made Jack a dull boy, and an angry, miserable SOB. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-8161920705829111341?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/KBLCgNVypVQ" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/8161920705829111341/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=8161920705829111341" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8161920705829111341?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/8161920705829111341?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/KBLCgNVypVQ/la-la-la-la-i-cant-hear-you.html" title="La La La La I Can't Hear You" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRhphqUeZVI/AAAAAAAAALU/PsbCWkzZ3UA/s72-c/denial1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/la-la-la-la-i-cant-hear-you.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck8DRHo5fSp7ImA9WxRVEEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-2653097170235557691</id><published>2008-11-07T12:22:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T13:01:15.425-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-07T13:01:15.425-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="right place wrong time" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="perfect couples" /><title>YMCA</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRR5xrAPuQI/AAAAAAAAALE/zFh20bDa12I/s1600-h/cross+dressing+quartet1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265967758567258370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRR5xrAPuQI/AAAAAAAAALE/zFh20bDa12I/s320/cross+dressing+quartet1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It started out so innocently, that magical summer that pulled the four of them together. Pauly, with his corkscrew curl and prominent bulge, was instantly sucked in by the languid and aloof Philip the minute they met. Meanwhile, Tommy, who tried really hard to act like a straight guy, couldn’t restrain his warmth for Tristan. What fun they had!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRR5mPHm1hI/AAAAAAAAAK8/rRh2M4DmbTw/s1600-h/cross+dressing+quartet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265967562103379474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRR5mPHm1hI/AAAAAAAAAK8/rRh2M4DmbTw/s320/cross+dressing+quartet.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;When a few more years elapsed, the four threw whatever caution they had left to the wind and came out of the closet. They still get together a few times a year to have tea parties and talk about the old times. That’s Philip in the tiara, with Pauly to his left (hands cradling that special prize). Tristan is in the pink floral gown, and Tommy finally embraced lavender as a color choice. Good thing this photo was taken before those apple slices got brown, because Philip won’t eat anything that’s not fresh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-2653097170235557691?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/XD-5mPePtjA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/2653097170235557691/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=2653097170235557691" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/2653097170235557691?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/2653097170235557691?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/XD-5mPePtjA/ymca.html" title="YMCA" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRR5xrAPuQI/AAAAAAAAALE/zFh20bDa12I/s72-c/cross+dressing+quartet1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/ymca.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0cERXc4eyp7ImA9WxRWGUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-503970813071932932</id><published>2008-11-06T11:27:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-06T11:30:04.933-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-06T11:30:04.933-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="having more fun than you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="good time any age" /><title>5:00 Somewhere</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRMbVgnxYtI/AAAAAAAAAK0/S5FAI46RyDk/s1600-h/liquored+up+louise1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265582445674193618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 254px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRMbVgnxYtI/AAAAAAAAAK0/S5FAI46RyDk/s320/liquored+up+louise1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Prohibition, schmohibition! Louise wasn’t about to let any silly law keep her from her bestest friend and constant companion. In fact, she loved it so much, she’d wrap herself up like a big present just for their special times together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRMbNC41HWI/AAAAAAAAAKs/J7Tf-hsfRLY/s1600-h/liquored+up+louise2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265582300253724002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 208px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRMbNC41HWI/AAAAAAAAAKs/J7Tf-hsfRLY/s320/liquored+up+louise2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;These days Louise has toned down the dress code a wee bit, but she’s still happily hitting the bottle and is shown here as she tries to explain why both red and white wine actually go with any meal. Ten minutes after this photo was taken she was doing her infamous Don Knotts routine, and someone had to drive her home pretty soon after that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-503970813071932932?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/aCB_puLfhsA" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/503970813071932932/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=503970813071932932" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/503970813071932932?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/503970813071932932?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/aCB_puLfhsA/500-somewhere.html" title="5:00 Somewhere" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRMbVgnxYtI/AAAAAAAAAK0/S5FAI46RyDk/s72-c/liquored+up+louise1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/500-somewhere.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A08MQ3k6fyp7ImA9WxRWGUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-7014759932823079286</id><published>2008-11-05T14:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T16:18:02.717-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-05T16:18:02.717-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="clumsy finesse" /><title>Someone Your Own Size</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRHyzHOBYWI/AAAAAAAAAKk/YM5kdkhO27U/s1600-h/big+guy+little+guy+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256399297929570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 223px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRHyzHOBYWI/AAAAAAAAAKk/YM5kdkhO27U/s320/big+guy+little+guy+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Huey and Goob were highly competitive from the day they met at the local Y. Huey was surprisingly fast for his size. Goob always came in second, but never stopped trying. They had years of chummy fun trying to outdo each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRHyowYnf4I/AAAAAAAAAKc/X_UPPiXLcmk/s1600-h/big+chuck+and+little+larry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265256221369663362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 232px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRHyowYnf4I/AAAAAAAAAKc/X_UPPiXLcmk/s320/big+chuck+and+little+larry.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Until the day Huey made the mistake of saying something about penis size. Shortly after this picture was taken, Goob was rushed to the hospital. He had to stick up for himself and his masculinity, but of course Huey kicked his ass. He hopes he landed at least one solid punch, because, man, is this friendship over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-7014759932823079286?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/Fn0VcZiPh8w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/7014759932823079286/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=7014759932823079286" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7014759932823079286?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7014759932823079286?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/Fn0VcZiPh8w/someone-your-own-size.html" title="Someone Your Own Size" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRHyzHOBYWI/AAAAAAAAAKk/YM5kdkhO27U/s72-c/big+guy+little+guy+1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/someone-your-own-size.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcNQ386fyp7ImA9WxRWGEw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-4746229413386912955</id><published>2008-11-04T11:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T11:44:52.117-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-04T11:44:52.117-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="overexposure" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="no execution" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="used to be fun" /><title>All Your Hugs And Kisses Too</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRB7d0zKJKI/AAAAAAAAAKU/Snj6silFkFc/s1600-h/nipplesuck1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264843716715750562" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 241px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRB7d0zKJKI/AAAAAAAAAKU/Snj6silFkFc/s320/nipplesuck1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Lonnie never forgot the magical high school moment when not only did he have two bodacious babes sucking on his nipples at the same time, but his best friend also grabbed a camera, capturing the moment for posterity and allowing Lonnie to spend the remainder of his adolescence reliving the electric pleasure of this completely mind-blowing moment. He even momentarily forgot to keep holding his stomach in. He framed this photo and still sleeps with it beneath his pillow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRB7WXmo3uI/AAAAAAAAAKM/Cee6fnNzUsQ/s1600-h/nipplesuck2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264843588619525858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 294px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRB7WXmo3uI/AAAAAAAAAKM/Cee6fnNzUsQ/s320/nipplesuck2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because Lonnie really, really liked it. So much so that he’s spent most of the rest of his life trying to find another woman or two to suckle from his man-teats. He’s continually making this proffering gesture, but it’s very, very seldom that anyone takes him up on it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-4746229413386912955?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/5dIYM6fat9w" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/4746229413386912955/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=4746229413386912955" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4746229413386912955?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/4746229413386912955?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/5dIYM6fat9w/all-your-hugs-and-kisses-too.html" title="All Your Hugs And Kisses Too" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SRB7d0zKJKI/AAAAAAAAAKU/Snj6silFkFc/s72-c/nipplesuck1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/all-your-hugs-and-kisses-too.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0EESX44fSp7ImA9WxRWF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-7614476210952188131</id><published>2008-11-03T09:10:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T09:13:28.035-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-03T09:13:28.035-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="having more fun than you" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="heart in right place" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="good time any age" /><title>He's A Brainiac</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQ8Gr0gh2KI/AAAAAAAAAKE/r4sZcFxXGHI/s1600-h/got+enthusasm1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264433839318620322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 237px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQ8Gr0gh2KI/AAAAAAAAAKE/r4sZcFxXGHI/s320/got+enthusasm1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Sherwin (“Gizmo” to pretty much everybody) was the most enthusiastic science teacher anyone ever encountered. He’d do anything for a laugh, but was a strict grader and even paddled a kid or two. He liked to get the lesson over with so he could talk about his latest inventions, and there were always a lot of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQ8Gg_KtCAI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8bv9vT2TqH0/s1600-h/got+enthusiasm2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264433653201307650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQ8Gg_KtCAI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/8bv9vT2TqH0/s320/got+enthusiasm2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Gizmo is now retired, and is trying to get a patent on his most recent invention, the Automatic Hair Styler. When everyone sees how well it works, he’ll be a shoe-in for inclusion in the Inventors’ Hall of Fame. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-7614476210952188131?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/CgRLepnF0D4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/7614476210952188131/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=7614476210952188131" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7614476210952188131?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/7614476210952188131?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/CgRLepnF0D4/hes-brainiac.html" title="He's A Brainiac" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQ8Gr0gh2KI/AAAAAAAAAKE/r4sZcFxXGHI/s72-c/got+enthusasm1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/hes-brainiac.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8NR304fSp7ImA9WxRWFUo.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5623029886054151368</id><published>2008-11-01T17:56:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T18:01:36.335-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-01T18:01:36.335-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="ahead of the curve" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="good looking enough to get away with anything" /><title>Make You, Make You Notice Me</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQzRE43ArAI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/T14YJJrjn78/s1600-h/whats+in+shirlelys+mouth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263811946402065410" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQzRE43ArAI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/T14YJJrjn78/s320/whats+in+shirlelys+mouth.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Shirley was adorably cute and very popular, but she was always resorting to something orally dramatic; even bad attention was better than not enough. Although this was just a toy gun, she nearly gave her mother a heart attack when this photograph was developed. And despite the fact that she got punished for it, the drama continued throughout her high school and college years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQzQ63wzQ1I/AAAAAAAAAJs/bey_-mUepQE/s1600-h/whats+in+shirleys+mouth2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263811774308893522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQzQ63wzQ1I/AAAAAAAAAJs/bey_-mUepQE/s320/whats+in+shirleys+mouth2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;As an adult, Shirley continues to resort to strange oral methods of attracting attention, despite the fact that she’s become a stunningly beautiful cover girl. It’s sort of become her signature, so the fixation paid off in the long run, and her breath is as fresh as a daisy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5623029886054151368?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/3ZQ6fZZxB4o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5623029886054151368/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5623029886054151368" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5623029886054151368?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5623029886054151368?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/3ZQ6fZZxB4o/make-you-make-you-notice-me.html" title="Make You, Make You Notice Me" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQzRE43ArAI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/T14YJJrjn78/s72-c/whats+in+shirlelys+mouth.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/11/make-you-make-you-notice-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUMCRHkzcSp7ImA9WxRWFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1602679088090549633.post-5862079555183226125</id><published>2008-10-31T07:39:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T07:44:25.789-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-31T07:44:25.789-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="inevitable" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="misunderstood from day one" /><title>My Green Tambourine</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQruyUVRI3I/AAAAAAAAAJk/XrVQkot0z1Y/s1600-h/halloween+confusion1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263281662754628466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 315px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQruyUVRI3I/AAAAAAAAAJk/XrVQkot0z1Y/s320/halloween+confusion1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Little Geordie wasn’t sure what his mother had in mind that Halloween in 1968 when she dressed him all in green and handed him a tambourine, humming a familiar song. “What am I supposed to be?” he kept asking. His mother laughed, slurring her words. “Honey, you’ll get shum candy in da bag and shum money in da tambourine.” Then she stood and stared at the wall for about an hour, so he went out trick or treating by himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did get the candy, but he got even more questions about what he was supposed to be, and a fair amount of teasing for the green booties which were really sheets of felt and a couple of rubber bands. Oh, and a whole lot of confetti and a new nickname: Jiminy Cricket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQrunMT8l-I/AAAAAAAAAJc/X_wSEQjnGsc/s1600-h/halloween+confusion2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263281471623043042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQrunMT8l-I/AAAAAAAAAJc/X_wSEQjnGsc/s320/halloween+confusion2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;These days Geordie’s realized that even though it’s not that easy being green, there are a few costumes with instruments that actually yield major tips, and you're looking at one of them. He’s quite the fiddler, and averages enough most nights to be able to afford a bottle and his current street drug of choice, which it’s very easy to buy when you’re dressed like this. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1602679088090549633-5862079555183226125?l=howwebecameus.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~4/eLpEYVQ4dvk" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/feeds/5862079555183226125/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1602679088090549633&amp;postID=5862079555183226125" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5862079555183226125?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1602679088090549633/posts/default/5862079555183226125?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/ZYHS/~3/eLpEYVQ4dvk/my-green-tambourine.html" title="My Green Tambourine" /><author><name>Fast Forward</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08555514519052646808</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="32" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SPO_5FGA6SI/AAAAAAAAAEU/FbBPjAXhcmQ/S220/fastforward1.jpg" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_UcE5ctUA0xU/SQruyUVRI3I/AAAAAAAAAJk/XrVQkot0z1Y/s72-c/halloween+confusion1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://howwebecameus.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-green-tambourine.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

