Mike E. Barry learns the world, taste by taste

I've been friends with Mike since he was 120 pounds and singing soprano in the same dorm shower that we shared with a 29 year old convict who lived in our closet, (thanks, columbia housing, for scaring the shit out of me in every way possible), but there's one thing I never knew.

Mike, who literally has an obsession with tracking the weather online, has a strange appetite. Up until his recent affair with "rufage", as he calls it, (by the way mike: toottootytoottoot!), mike had never tried something that I literally put on my face every night before I go to sleep.

No, it's not a "get it while I'm passed out/ blacked out" sign, it this: JAM.

Fucking mike Barry never ate jam until this summer. How the Fuck do you miss that, I asked him the other night.

"Well," he said, as Jules and I stared at him, "For the first 18 years of my life I ate my toast dry."

"ATE MY TOAST DRY?" DISGUSTING. THAT LITERALLY SOUNDS VAGINAL. WHY? why not try jam? what? you never thought of it? I literally write in jam. I put jam on my stairs as a carpet. My sunblock is jam. My name is jam.

Ok. so he's had it now, and I love him a lot, and he's a great friend, but after he made the "dry toast" comment, he also said that he's never eaten more than a half of a banana at a time, and that he's probably eaten like 7 bananas in his whole life. I'd like to reach Jules Honda for comment but her brain exploded after he said that. I took out my gun, but reconsidered.

What the fuck is wrong with mike? Is it that he's too cute for jam and bananas? maybe? The mysetry unfolds. Tune in in 46 years when he takes the plunge and discovers MILK.

Love,
Jenny