Friday Fiver: What I am to you is not real

In the interest of a weekly post I present to you the most disappointing Friday Fiver since the creation of fire.

1. Age?
36, although the AARP is sure I've got at least 30 years on that number. For you longtime readers, yes, they're still sending me mail.

2. Sex?
Male. I think I'm actually supposed to be cute here and say something like, "Yes, please!" or "Only if you bring the soy sauce!" Fuck that--I'll do you one better and take us into the very depths of black comedy: "Okay, but this time I get to strangle the hooker!"

3. Location?
Barre, VT. We're the granite capital of the world. Yep. When you die, there's a good chance your headstone will be made of granite from the town I live in. On a slow summer night you can sometimes smell the granite sheds...ahh.

4. Single?
Maddied.
Ya, maddied!
Jeesh!



5. How long have you been doing the Friday Fiver?
Long enough to know that this week sucks! My friend the Quartermaster pointed out in her blog that this week's Friday Fiver is really pathetic, and that most of the questions are already answered in people's bios. Instead of slogging masochisticly through five throw-away questions she wrote her own. Of course, she was too lazy to answer her own questions, but I'm hoping that with a little peer pressure she'll step up to her own microscope. I answered her questions in the comments section of her post, and I encourage you to do the same. Support disgruntled Friday Fiver participants! Viva la resistance!