Why Caleb Is for the Birds

One day, as I was doing my homework, two Freshman knocked on our door. Jaunty and jovial, in walked Fainty and his friend Caleb, the latter wearing a Jamaican hat. They were out looking for trouble. Naturally, we invited these Philistines in and offered them some pizza, like good Christians should. They ate it all, the slobs. We then proceeded to laze about, watching the Emmys. Caleb kept offering me weed from his hat pocket, to which I repeatedly said, "No, thank you."

This is true.

Caleb, one of my more recent friendship acquisitions, is a stout young man of approximately 18 years of age. His face is the worst. It is an offensive abomination. Not only that, but plus also every syllable he utters is a nauseating, filthy, detestable sound too as well. I am not proud of him. He seems like a buffer. He is a crock full of beans. A worthless guttersnipe ne'er-do-well.

I sure do like the old louse, though. Just the other day, the little dickens shook my hand with an unparalleled sincerity such as have never seen. We now shake hands on a regular basis. He is friendly and beautiful.

Caleb, this is why you are for the birds.