Frank keeps it real by play some Super Marioworld, NES style, on an X-box. Because he's hip yet wants to remember the games of the past.
Awesome, pigeons have decided that my house is the best house to flock to. Must. Get. Shotgun.
But, first, must also get new pack of fortune tampons because this is my last one. They make me feel good about myself as I shove cotton up my whoo-ha. To the store I go.
Sweet! This means I can pick up ammo for the shot gun at the same time I buy my fortune tampons! Also, some tapes so I can record me killing pigeons!
"Wow," I think to myself, "they really do try to grab kids early when it comes to alcohol."
And by the time I got home, the pigeons were gone. I was quite sad because I bought some of that beer on sale, drank it as I drove home, contemplating the sheer joy I would get out of killing birds. But Frank was outside... with a trail of blood leading to the side of the house.. and a pile of bones by the fence. He beat me to it. Damn, that goat. Damn him to hell.