My roommate Josh.

I don't like the way the internet is getting to know me. My roommate's name is Josh and I find it truly creepy (and not the good, "Hey Miley Cyrus! How you doin'?-type of good creepy) and a bit sad that the internet doesn't have anything better to do than to make up weird fictional stories about my life. My favorite sentence in the whole thing is, "Now, if she would just lose all hope that her husband might still be alive, you'd be in there like swimwear." Even the internet thinks that the only way I'm going to find a partner is if zombies took over the world and I used my rations to bribe chicks into thinking I was a cool guy. But even then it's only a maybe. Not only do I have to share what's left of my food, I have to sit around and pray that Carrie forgets about her husband. Her husband Josh. Then and only then can Uncle Marty get "in there like swimwear." Which is about as disgusting and strange as an analogy can get.

Which Carrie?

Carrie Bradshaw? Not sure that qualifies as swimwear but I wouldn't mind getting in there like trashy-hillbilly-lingerie-that-probably-costs-way-too-much-money-wear.

Carrie Underwood? Please forget about your husband Carrie! The sad thing, I don't even think she's married. She is so uninterested in me that she has to make up a fictional husband during a time when zombies have taken over the world. That is the lowest of lows.

Now this is the Carrie that I hope the internet is talking about. Carrie Prejean. I'd even sing you a very special song. Seriously. Maybe I'll post that video one day. Anyways Carrie, if you want me to hate David Archuleta because of his peter preference, well then, that's just the price I'm going to have to pay.

The internet is onto me. What do all of these women have in common? Blonde bombshells.

Looks like this is going to end up being my future, even if zombies kill everybody:

Photo courtesy of Josh Henning.