Dinner with Neil

I recently went out for dinner with one of my best friends. A majority of the meal was spent with Neil wearing this face:

Why yes, that is the look of being unimpressed. It started with my giving him a present I made myself:

The fact of the matter is I made it different by eating the cherry, and the polite thing to do is frigging accept my gift. Jerk.

Neil is also the one that stated, “I am so glad you don’t drink or do drugs because the shit you say and do sober is hard enough to explain…” as well as “to define your craziness would be to compare it to something equally as crazy. That doesn’t exist.”

The dinner conversation ranged from things like the great cherry debate to:

Neil: Why the fuck do you say “yo” so much now!

Me: Because I’m ghetto.

Neil: Your father was a surgeon! You’re the least ghetto out of all of us!

Me: Don’t make me cut you.

That’s right. I threatened him with a butter knife. Then realized it was facing the wrong way… So then changed to a more threatening stance:

I may not seem too threatening, but I’ll fuck you up, yo. Butter knife or no butter knife, surgery is in my blood.

Near the end of dinner, Neil said one more beautiful grain of knowledge:

You know, sometimes I think killing you and disposing of the body would be a LOT of work. But in the long run it’s not as much work as being your friend…

I love you Neil.