I suppose now is as good a time as any to introduce all my friends from home to the "Connor".
Musa, mihi causas memora...
The Connor doesn't exist as a man. He is merely a drinking and socialist-thinking entity. His birthday is a Canadian national holiday and his hair is blond. He thinks whatever helps him sleep at night, despite whatever "cheating" "he" "may" "or" "may not" "be" "doing" "to" "his" "(ex)girlfriend". (ouch!)
His misguided political views are asking for a punch in the face, but sadly, the rules on Gardner floor 3 ban such a punishment for voting socialist. On most online tests he rates faster than a locomotive, but more socialist than Stalin and his speeding bullets, but as Connor likes to say,"at least its not a Gulag." Life COULD be worse, right?
This entity we call "Connor" is supposed to live in the nether-regions of 4th floor, which, to be honest, I'm not even sure exists. Supposedly he "plays" "Day of Defeat" while at the same time, stays away from Counter-Strike.
Claiming not to be as geeky a computer nerd as myself or the floor-fellow, Conley, he refrains from using phrases like "STFU!" but rather, will say "Shut the fuck up!" (often, too often)
In most aspects, he's a cheeky fellow.
"Connor" has been adopted as the mascot of the third floor here, and, as such, has let it go to his head. Perchance it's his wealthy and nanny-rich past, but for the most part, Connor is a bitch.
Reminicent of the Greek god Apollo, Connor has the blond locks and whining attitude that makes him... well... no one's favorite. On the other hand, without him, who would drive the sun? The world would cease to exist as we know it here on 3rd without his omnipresent, negative, bitchy, pissy, and yet friendly attitude.
Only leaving our floor to shower and "sleep" our nocturnal, vampire-obsessed, Viking-esque friend spends most of his time ranting from the soap-box in his head while physically placing himself on my bed or Conley's couch.
Nevertheless, his soul is Irish (at best!) and he CAN hold his liquor. Sporting shirts that say "My Drinking team has a snowboarding problem" or "Your girlfriend thinks I'm hot" he is the epitome of modern punk.
His poor Vancouver temperature tolerance is limited and his face and actions just scream, "Mug me!"
His involvment in something known here as "The Brotherhood" is sketchy at best. Most sources claim it to be an asian prostitution ring of epic proportions, but nobody really knows.
His turn ons include long walks on the beach and women tearing his shirts off just so that they're absent from the next laundry load. ;)
All in all, he's a damn good guy and I'm proud to know him. Here's to you, cowboy.
Oh, and for the record, he's the one who put that dried-up-cheese-covered chair next to the laundry room.
