I KNOW JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE

I know Justin Timberlake. A lot of people fight me on this and frankly it pisses me off. I do know Justin Timberlake.
It’s like this, you’re talking to Brad at Pink Taco who introduces you to Tommy. Later on that week at the nearest ‘Bucks, Lisa tells you how she has a crush on this guy in her English class named Tommy. “Tall? Brown hair? Always wearin Pajama pants, Tommy?” “YES! Do you know him?” Now keep in mind… all you did was shake Tommy’s hand and barely looked the sucker in the eye but you reply “Yeah! I know Tommy.” Because you do. You do know Tommy.
I met Justin for the first time right after my 13th birthday. I remember fondly because I know I thought I actually had a chance with him because I was finally a “teenager.” We spoke. I cried. He signed my NSync cd in the parkinglot of a Houston, Texas mall.
The second time I met him he was an even bigger dick as I wet my pants in the Mandalay Bay casino. 22 years old. I pissed my pants. And I followed him around in my piss pants for 15 minutes. True story. Two encounters solidify the fact that I-KNOW-JUSTIN-TIMBERLAKE. So don’t fucking fight with me about it. We go way back. Assholes. The end.

Lovingly,
-Kinsey