My friend George likes walnuts. A lot. Used to date one. (Of course not, no, never — how could you even think such a thing? No, they never did that. As far as I am aware of. In public.)
My friend George is a real friend, unlike my imaginary friends who are imaginary, though some of them are pretty cuddly at times.
My friend George — what a guy. Only person I ever knew who had a personality transplant. Came out the other side exactly the same, since he was one of the very few with an exactly symmetrical personality. Kind of lumpy and bold from every angle.
My friend George, a guy who enjoyed doing taxes. Said it gave him great satisfaction to know that an anonymous government drone would be devoting a day or two to him alone, since he got audited exactly once a year. (And always came up smelling like an average Lithuanian, which he was not, so you could say, if you so desired, that he routinely beat the system).
My friend George, like a marshmallow in disguise, but with bushier eyebrows, which usually gave him away.
My friend George, listed in his high-school yearbook as "most likely to become confused", didn't. Though he often had that effect on others.
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