Tears can be so bitter.
Tears can be so bitter.
My simplified opinion for what it’s worth: NASCAR sucks.
I decided to cook up a chicken chile soup instead of wasting my time in less productive pursuits, like this Keystone Kops komedy. Not regretting it.
Those pesky Ruskies. I battled rust on my ‘76 Fiat for ten years. But it was the electrical system that broke my heart. And emptied my wallet.
It was sarcasm. But you know that. Right?
Agreed. The proper position of the female person is at the table. And I ain’t talkin’ bouts no boardroom. My woman needs to be there when I gets home. With that mmm mmm good biscuits with red eye gravy, boiled ham hocks, and a Busch or six. Now that’s what I calls con-ju-gill bliss.
Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Grey Poupon on caviar! The scandal of it. Why I never. Wait ‘till Auntie hears of this. There will not, will not be a G. Loomis NRX beneath the tree in December!
Oh, my dear. Grey Poupon on caviar! The sacrilege. Why I never. Oh, fiddlesticks.
See. Just not possible to have good things anymore. But they can rebuild it. And better too.
Dude, please have a wonderful and sweet remainder of the day. May your tomorrow be productive with dreams come true. And I do hope you get out of the gray for you are a beautiful man. :)
I owned a 1976 Fiat 128 for ten years. I kind of know a bit about them.
The Gulf station at 2nd Ave. and First Street is demolished. So sad for it was a fun place to meet Indian and Pakistani taxi drivers, get a Coke, and just savor eclectic NYC. The East Village is dying I fear. Money, greed, and redevelopment to attract the wannabe SoHo wealthy type hipsters. Memories live on.