Bob and Carl hate rising gas prices, but love their new white gloves.

 “Practice makes perfect,” thought douche bag.

Moments like these made Nelson cherish the fact he was deaf.

 “Perhaps,” thought Shyla, “the men’s washroom at Finchway subway station wasn’t the best place to take headshots.”

The horse whisperer was less than impressed with his new apprentice.

MILK

“It does a body damage”

After her encounter with her future self, Marie decided to track her progress in an annual diary.

AGE 13

Maybe it’s the post-concussion syndrome talking, but damn, my future self is soooooooo hot. Even though I’m lactose intolerant, I’m going to start drinking as much milk as I can. I’m off to a great start.  In one day alone I drank three whole cartons. Sure, I threw up six times, but it’ll all be worth it soon. That’s what my future self told me. Why would I lie to myself? Besides, I watched The Poltergeist. I know better than to fuck around with people in mirrors.

AGE 14

Another year, another 60,000 litres of milk. My hair is getting nice and shiny these days, but I guess that’s what happens when you sweat profusely. Maybe I shouldn’t have stopped taking those lactase pills? Anyhow, I can feel myself getting hotter everyday. It won’t be long before Jeffrey and I are riding white horses and making love in endless fields of non-poisonous ivy. Speaking of Jeffrey, he accidently wet his pants in gym class today. I sure hope he starts getting his shit together soon. I’m not into golden showers.

AGE 15

Hmmmmm, something’s not right here. I’m drinking LOTS of milk but I’m not getting any hotter. For Halloween, I dressed up as Jennifer Beals from Flashdance. One guy asked if I was Dee Snider from Twisted Sister. That really pissed me off, so I punched him as hard as I could. In retrospect, I feel pretty bad about shattering his sternum (I guess he should’ve drank more milk). On the upside, my rack is looking pretty good. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do much to attract attention away from my 52-inch ass. Oh well…[sigh].

AGE 16

Against the advice of my doctor, family, friends and the school janitor that always asks if I’m on fucking crack, I’ve decided to continue my milk-drinking journey to sexiness. Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t having second thoughts. I don’t remember looking 86 pounds overweight in the mirror. Perhaps I’m not getting enough calcium? I read somewhere that Cleopatra used to bathe in milk, so I tried that too. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. But, then again, no one said anything about Cleopatra drinking the milk while bathing in it. Maybe that’s how I got Chlamydia?

AGE 17

It occurred to me that maybe I should try exercising regularly, along with drinking enough milk to flood a small village. I wonder why my slut of a future self didn’t tell me that? What a bitch! To teach myself a lesson, I gave myself a firm punch in the ovaries. That didn’t hurt nearly as much as the fall down two flights of stairs I suffered as a result of losing my balance after punching myself in the ovaries. Good thing that nice exchange student from Guatemala broke my fall. I’m glad I brought two bouquets of flowers to his funeral.

AGE 18

Seriously, what the fuck? I’m practically peeing white and I look like a fucking chicken mcnugget with a wig. This is bullshit! To top it all off, Jeffrey Kaiser looks like a serial rapist covered in three tons of medicinal Vaseline. Why won’t that asshole take a shower? Even a drop of cologne would’ve made the process of us getting to third base in the school parking lot much easier. Plus, if not for the overwhelming stench of B.O. and fish sticks, I would’ve noticed that Principal Morgan caught us before he vomited all over the windshield of my car. The holy water he doused in my eyes burned for days. Unfortunately, I was still half blind when he officially expelled us from school…three months before graduation.

AGE 19

These days, the circus pays me $50 a week to ride three-legged donkeys while wearing a tie-dyed, two-piece bikini. Fuck you, Milk.

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Gary wasn’t as happy when he realized the pencil she was reaching for wasn’t his.

Despite her best efforts, Sister Eloise couldn’t beat God at ping pong.