Last weekend, you and your buddies TP'd a house. The White House.
Your pile of dirty laundry is higher than your tower of beer cans.
In a fit of gourmet creativity, you come up with a recipe that combines pink and blue margarine, green and purple ketchup, and Cap'n Crunch.
You foolishly trade your cube-mate two Charmanders for three Jigglypuffs.
You're a single male, aged 25-40, making between $35K and $50K annually, with 75% of your 401(k) in low-yield short-term bonds and the rest in tax-exempt municipals. And your pants are on fire.
Uncontrollable shouts of "Wheeeeeeeeeeee!!!!" every time you take the elevator down two floors to the cafeteria.
When you move, you lose your entire security deposit because the landlord had to paint over your crayoned mural of Sesame Street characters "doing it."
They leave you alone for just 5 minutes, and you start shredding Enron documents.
You decide to spend 3 months waiting in line for the next "Star Wars" episode after your mom agrees to keep you supplied with Mountain Dew and Mentos.
Despite the Ivy League law degree, you were once impeached by the House.
A full 30 years after your kindergarten teacher told you to, you still refuse to share the Flintstones Fone with the other kids.
Dunking cookies in the corporate cafeteria is okay, but the "Help! I'm drowning!!" sound effects?
First he catches you using your boogers as paste, then he walks in while you're playing "Godzilla eats bin Laden" with your sock puppets -- can't Cheney bug someone else for a while?!?
Your three square meals a day? Nothin' but Pop-Tarts, Baby!
The producers of "Jackass" are too freaked out to look at any more of your audition tapes.
