After being terribly inspired last week, I’ve got jack shit this week. Literally. I think it’s due to the exhaustion of this past weekend where we did everything except bring home a new baby. That’s still a couple-three weeks out…hopefully.
I guess I could tell you about the shit for brains parents that we ran into at the local pumpkin patch / abandoned gas station Sunday.
See, they always have the same things around here:
pony rides
a jumpin’ thang
a bunch of pumpkins sorted by size
a gazebo for pettin’ rabbits
And inside the gazebo is a big-ass sign that says:
1) Children must always be accompanied by an adult
2) Don’t let children handle rabbits unless children are seated.
3) Do not remove rabbits from enclosure.
Anyway, this family of fucktards walks in and is there about .000003 seconds before their little angels see the bunny house. They run over and the kids IMMEDIATELY reach in, pick up a rabbit, and bring it outside, where it promptly jumps from their hands, dives thru the fence and heads for the interstate offramp.
Now, I asked the attendant what the fee was for losing a bunny. Without batting an eye he says “Twenty dollars.”
I ask “Is there a dumbass tax too?”
He answers “No, but there oughta be.”
The only other cool thing I can think of off the top of my head is what we cooked Friday and Saturday, which were veal rib chops. Oh, and before I post any scrumptious photos, just shut your judgemental pie hole. If you eat any meat, then veal’s no different than anything else. Just hush.
Here’s a couple of shots of dinner…
Who wants to come over for some ribs or something this weekend?
Oh, and I do need to answer another of my “ask me anything” questions.
Recently I began receiving some emails regarding our 20th high school reunion and on one page, you can enter your current personal info, some photos, etc., and I did so.
I will not post a link here as there is horrid evidence of what appears to be blatant homosexuality in my past. However, I linked to my blog and got a comment / email from someone I hadn’t talked to in probably ten years. I’ll call him Toole.
He asks: Why does Molly stay married to you after all of these years?
In answer to your question Toole, she stays married to me for my physique, my money, and my great looks. Is that not obvious?
Hopefully you’ll read this and either email me again or give us a call. We’re in the book. If you can’t pick me from the small pile that share my surname, the old man’s still the only Floyd I know.
What say you?