When my Dear, Departed Dusty still lived, any time anyone would say "Son of a bitch!" in front of him, I would cover his ears and mock-scold them for making him think sons of bitches were a bad thing. Though if they called HIM a "son of a bitch", I would simply point out that, to him, that's not an insult, since he actually was a son of a bitch. Either way, I always chuckled at myself for my tremendous wittiness.
That's it; that's my story. Isn't it posts like this that keep you coming back?
4 comments:
That is kind of sweet.
I would come back in any case, Frank... but have you given any thought to posting semi-naked pics? I hear it's a great way to bump up the old blog traffic. Ask Scott!
Yes. It is, indeed, why I come back.
I wish I knew people who said "son of a bitch" so that I could play the same game with Truman. It sounds a fun game.
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