Michael Trent Barr Scirtzinger

Where do you begin with Michael? Maybe it's the time Nathan and I were sleeping in my room. We'd been up all night playing games. Michael comes in my room, probably with a grin from ear to ear. Son of a bitch starts jumping up and down on my bed with no conscience. "Time to get up!" he gleefully shouts.

That's classic Michael. We were young teenagers during that incident. But I don't think Mike's changed that much since then.

We sometimes call him Baloo because he's much like a big bear. He's got a heart to go along with it. He's about as loyal as a friend as you'll ever have. He's always been there when I really needed him.

His driving, on the other hand, is another story. He's a maniac. How he got a license, I shudder to think about. He has a disorder called speedlimitsigndyslexia. He likes to make sure other drivers can't get past him, and he makes a point to call drivers of likewise habits every foul name you can find in the English sublanguages.

Michael can be bribed with hot wings and beer. He is usually grinning mischievously.

Since Mike currently has no computer or email address, I can't direct any complaints about him his way.

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