Two nights ago, I was part of a conversation where this guy insisted that in the jungles of Guatemala, a .22 does more damage to the human body than a 50 caliber bullet. A Guatemalan gas station security guard told him so.
I expressed my skepticism to the degree required to avoid passive aggressive behavior, and then pretended to accept his claim. It was cool though. What I liked about this guy was that he was not wearing fake boobs, an ugly whig or heaps of insecurity. I like that--the lack of that--in a guy, and, you know, if some radical change occured in my life that caused me to need more guy friends, maybe we could be buddies.
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