I need to start out by saying that I love my brother, but he has gone way too far this last year.
He has always been fairly down to earth, but last year, when he was a Junior and I was frosh, he and some of his buddies made a club. They tell the story often enough that I should know it by now, but I try to tune them out when ever they talk, so here is my best recollection:
Jack (that's my brother) was telling Anthony and Jonathon about his job that he got over the summer when they were spending the night in September of last year. He had been delivering papers around the neighborhood. As soon as Jack mentioned papers, Anthony and Jonathon jumped in with their jobs, delivering papers and selling papers, respectively. This was too weird even for them. So, after the goofing off and telling of the "paper horror stories", Jonathon began to wonder if any of their other friends had jobs involving papers. They called just about everyone they knew (tying up my phone line of course) and asked "How have newspapers influenced your summer?" I told them before they started to call that there weren't enough newspaper related jobs in the county for all of their friends, but I was wrong and they never let me forget it.
All of the guys that had hung out with fairly regularly, now became the best of friends because of their stupid newspaper connection. They began to come to my house when they could, best as Jack but it, "This is where we all started."
I wish that I could say that I wasn't the one that gave them the ridiculous name for their silly little group, but I did. You see, I was studying the Victorian times in school and I had to write a research paper on some aspect of the period. I knew that the other girls in my class would choose things about clothing, or manners, or marriage. You know, all of the pretty stuff. And I could not bring myself to do the same ( I have a weird non-conformist problem) so I asked the teacher what I should research and Ms. Crocker said, "Well, if you don't want the 'pretty things' then how about the working class; the factory workers, the orphans, the farm hands, or the newsies." The rest is fairly easy to guess so I spare you the details, but lets just say that my life hasn't been the same since.
He has always been fairly down to earth, but last year, when he was a Junior and I was frosh, he and some of his buddies made a club. They tell the story often enough that I should know it by now, but I try to tune them out when ever they talk, so here is my best recollection:
Jack (that's my brother) was telling Anthony and Jonathon about his job that he got over the summer when they were spending the night in September of last year. He had been delivering papers around the neighborhood. As soon as Jack mentioned papers, Anthony and Jonathon jumped in with their jobs, delivering papers and selling papers, respectively. This was too weird even for them. So, after the goofing off and telling of the "paper horror stories", Jonathon began to wonder if any of their other friends had jobs involving papers. They called just about everyone they knew (tying up my phone line of course) and asked "How have newspapers influenced your summer?" I told them before they started to call that there weren't enough newspaper related jobs in the county for all of their friends, but I was wrong and they never let me forget it.
All of the guys that had hung out with fairly regularly, now became the best of friends because of their stupid newspaper connection. They began to come to my house when they could, best as Jack but it, "This is where we all started."
I wish that I could say that I wasn't the one that gave them the ridiculous name for their silly little group, but I did. You see, I was studying the Victorian times in school and I had to write a research paper on some aspect of the period. I knew that the other girls in my class would choose things about clothing, or manners, or marriage. You know, all of the pretty stuff. And I could not bring myself to do the same ( I have a weird non-conformist problem) so I asked the teacher what I should research and Ms. Crocker said, "Well, if you don't want the 'pretty things' then how about the working class; the factory workers, the orphans, the farm hands, or the newsies." The rest is fairly easy to guess so I spare you the details, but lets just say that my life hasn't been the same since.