Like all church retreats I go on, IYM was no different.

I found myself Trevdog, Louis from St. Louis, Bri-Bri and M.G. in a graveyard with no clothes on. Grade A place to streak for the inexperienced streaker. We get tired of running around and the conversation turns to one of the two things constantly on my mind, sex and alcohol.

Trevdog: “I don’t really like drinking. I get tired and pass out. Then my friends start drawing penises on me.”
Louis from St. Louis: “It’s true. I’ve seen them. They trace them on him.”

Dead silence for 10 seconds. 5 minutes of straight laughter. I’m blonde. Fuck off.

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