I am 8.

Blowing air down the crack between my hand and my cheek to make a farting sound is one of the funniest things I am capable of doing.

I will not eat a sandwich that still has the crust attached to the outer edge of the bread.

I am convinced I am allergic to cheese - nobody has told me this, but sometimes you just have a gut feeling about these things.

Girls are gross, especially that one that keeps trying to hold my hand at recess. Yuck!

I do not have hair in all the right places.

I collect baseball cards and make idiotic trades with my best friend down the street, who happens to be 3 years older than me.

If I check the mail, and there's nothing for me, I just leave it all in the mailbox. If there is something for me, I leave the rest of it in the mailbox.

I have an obsession with bugs.

I am an avid defender of my right to refuse to shower on days I will not be seen in public. By the way, water is a very valid replacement for soap and shampoo.

I have an electric toothbrush with an embossed image of He-Man on the handle -brushing has never been so fun.

My dad can beat up your dad with one hand tied behind his back every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

I am still sleeping on the mattress with the hula-hoop sized ring of dried urine placed delicately by years of systematic molding directly in the center - I still have an accident every now and then.

Curiosity killed the cat. Along with our high-powered microwave.

I am 8.

This makes my future a whole heck of a lot easier than it would, say, if I were a 20 year old man. What I have learned from my perpetual state of prepubescence is this - nothing in life is so serious that it cannot be made fun of. Immature, you might say. And I say indeed.

I am 8.

You can't expect much more from someone who still thinks his mother's kiss is the most potent actibacterial cream in the whole wide world.