So, coffee in a fine dining establishment this morning. A balding single father in who is difficult to see in a camo sweatshirt sits at a table nearby with his young son. He keeps trading longing glances across the yellow, plastic CUIDADO! WET FLOOR! sandwich board with a single mom in frizzy hair and ginormous 70s tinted eyeglasses who sits at a table nearby. Suddenly the mans son emits a cavernous belch, and both parties erupt into laughter. Not bad, Levi, says the man to the mullet-headed four-year-old. But this is how a REAL man does it. Then the manrolls his head on his shoulders like a baseball player winding up for a pitch and delivers a burp that rattles the windows. The man, the boy and the little girl dissolve into a paroxyam of laughter. He looks expectantly at Miss Frizz as everyone else in the fine dini g establishment collectively rolls their eyes ad thought bubbles ACTUALLY APPEAR over their heads: Redneck, white trash inbred love connection. Miss Frizz puts her hand on her little girls shoulder: Sugar bear, aint nothing a man can do a woman cant do better. Then Miss Frizz leans away from Capt. Camo-- RAISING UP ON HER RIGHT CHEEK; I CANNOT make this up -- and unleashes the beast that blows several of the mans remaining hairs off his head. All four folk collapsed in laughter, and perhaps methane poisoning. Hey there, says Capt. Camo. Cant help but notice you have a great ass ... Miss Frizz blushes demurely. Not in front of the children! But let me give you my cell number ...
Posted on: Sat, 18 Oct 2014 14:08:12 +0000
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