Combine the facial expression of Keanu Reeves (You know, the dull stare of the dairy cow), the body of a football player who hasn't played football in four years, the arrogance/prima donna attitude of The Rock, and the intelligence of George W. Bush (Okay, that's probably hitting him a little below the belt. Sorry, George). Combine that with a fetish for looking like a thug (Drew, stop wearing FUBU, you're white) and a tendency to date young'uns (He has rightfully earned the nickname "Statch" from pretty much everyone, even people who barely know him), and you have a pretty good idea of what Drew is like.

Drew is a fine debater, though. Whatever you say or do to prove a point, like opening up a map and SHOWING HIM, PLAIN AS DAY, that Australia IS INDEED A REAL PLACE, he can shut out that irrefutable proof with, "Shut up dude, you're a pussy." Damn.

I'm also going to tell you about Eric, because Drew isn't half as funny without Eric to back him up. Let me describe Eric for you. Combine the appearance of a suburban white boy, the dress code of an urban gang-affiliated black male, the conceit of Bill Gates, and the major desires in life of Beavis and Butt-Head, and you have Eric. Add to that a fetish for Magic: The Gathering and being a really bad driver who thinks he knows how to race, and you have Eric.

Eric is also fun to argue with because he assumes the position of the arrogant know-it-all who lets his opponent win to piss him off enough to continue the argument.

Whenever I return to Phoenix, one of the finest things in life is to see Eric and Drew argue about cars.

DREW: Dude, all I have to do is wire the defibrillator into the automonicator and slip it up into the gastro-valves of the slamificator and then when I drop it into second I take off.

ERIC: That's impossible, dude, you have to obnoxify the modfrillicator first.

DREW: No you don't dude.

ERIC: Yes, you do.

DREW: Whatever dude, you're just pissed because you can't do it to your little rice rocket.

ERIC: Actually, yes I can.

DREW: Shut up, you're a pussy.

ERIC: Okay, Drew.

DREW: Shut up, dude, you're a fucking pussy, look at you.

ERIC: You're right, Drew.

And so it goes. For hours on end. I went to Safeway one time and came back an hour later.

DREW: ...ussy.

ERIC: Okay.

DREW: You're telling me that you can't intensify the rectometer?

ERIC: I didn't say anything Drew, you are right. You win.

DREW: You're a pussy.

Anyway, I cannot possibly stress enough that these guys are both my friends and I love them to death. So please don't egg my parents' house, you guys.

This may have been considerably funnier for me to write than for you to read. I get a kick out of this because I've seen it in person and I know it's true. And I guess it's one of those things where you have to be there.

And if you still wanna criticize my entry, shut up, you're a pussy.