The horrible irony of Single Yak is that he only exists due to the confidence and lack of pressure that Relationship Yak provides. And I’m sure I’m not the first man that’s discovered that about himself either. I pray for Relationship Yak’s sake that my current memory of Saturday night’s events and of being responsible and well-behaved are accurate and complete…and if not, that there exists no photographic evidence to the contrary, establishing maximum deniability. That’s always important. You’ll see why.

Heavy drinking and softball left me exhausted, so I do apologize for skipping out on Sex In The City, although – if you can believe me – I wouldn’t have really minded it at all. But perhaps it was best to spend Sunday night as Relationship Yak again instead, helping Jess reorganize her room…and reading through all her old collected copies of VoX.

Yep, read it all…issues from 2001 through 2003. All the “From The Editors” sections, all the bad poetry and song lyrics, hilariously outdated NBA predictions, all the essays on skin cancer, alternative petrol sources, the degrees of intolerance and bigotry as they relate to the number of syllable count of each corresponding slur…all of it.

Ideally, everyone in life should be given amnesty for all the horrible crimes of awkwardness and self-indulgence they committed against themselves and others during their high-school years…but still, it’s best if it’s not documented and preserved forever in the form of a poorly edited, poorly stapled, poorly written, bimonthly high-school newspaper. My high-school failings are greater and reach much farther than any you’ll ever hear about, but at least since I’ve now cut off all ties with RHHS and killed all possible witnesses that could implicate me, I’m free to deny, deny, and deny all I want. You’ll never hear about them, because quite frankly…they never happened.

Though you could just check the early archives from 2002 (or really, just any post from any month in any year in the archive) for a proper demonstration of terrible writing from me…so really, in the end, no one is innocent. And also although it’s incredibly unfair of me to take these crusty old artifacts of high-school life from 2001-2003 out of context and judging them with the benefit of hindsight, an additional five or six years of life experience, and an university education…I don’t really care.

Y’all were some straight up fag hats, and THAT…that is real talk.

Most bizarre out of all of this is that of all the people I know that were involved, only one man is exempt. Only MaxSnax has escaped utter gayness, and frankly, THAT is what’s most surprising out of all of this. How I could see the world differently in such a way that only Max and Max alone has had his standing improve…that is the greatest crime of all.

Of all things in life that I am glad of, I am possibly most glad that I have kept no copies of my high-school yearbooks, and that I have wisely used the one year mulligan that we are all afforded in life on my Grade 8 year…and so thus that year didn’t even happen for me. That whole messy period of my life…no evidence, no witnesses, never happened.

Maximum deniability.

Now it’s time for the most awesome news headline of the weekend: Killer elephant ‘Osama’ dies in hail of bullets. “Yes, Osama has finally been killed and it took us 20 bullets to silence him” – yes, that’s what you get, you pachyderm piece of shit. You don’t fuck with humankind. Just look at all the last guys to make a play for the throne on top of the food chain. Not a lot of dolphins laughing it up while they’re stuck in tuna nets now, are there? That’s right, there fucking well aren’t.

Goddamn! Get your head out of your hand.
Here’s to all the times we’re gonna have.
Cooped up for a year with the two best looking babes I’ve seen all year.
Get me another bottle of beer!
’cause I’m feeling fine.