The Butcher’s ‘8’ fell off his phone. Mine survived being set on fire last year, but lately, it won’t hold a charge worth a damn. I was talking to Coble at the park and I was fully charged and the battery completely drained as I walked from the top of the hill to my car (about a 20 minute walk).
So, as a Christmas present to us, new phones for everyone.
We brought two carloads of folks back here last night and so the boys put Mrs. Wigglebottom in the recalcitrant brother’s car where her job was just to eat all the shit the nephews have left in the car. I was concerned that there seemed to be a lot of M&Ms in the backseat. I’m more concerned now that she’s letting farts that smell like something out of the depths of hell.
Did I tell y’all that my Aunt B.’s daughter is a writer? She let me read some of her poetry and a story she’s working on. It’s unpolished and very rough and is all action, no exposition, but damn, for a freshman in high school? It’s incredible. She already has such a nice, snarky authorial voice. I’m trying to talk her into coming down for Act Like a GRRRL!!! I hope she’ll consider it.
Anyway, I have to answer some emails and then the morning is mine. I’ll probably be masturbating.
Ha, ha, ha. Hello, folks who found this through my dad’s Christmas letter! Heck, hello, Mom & Dad! for all I know.