My brothers and I went down to Joe’s Crab Shack for dinner, where you pay a $15 surcharge for the privilege of eating in your own damn town. Not that it pisses me off or anything, but it does.
Anyway, because we’re all a bunch of uncouth assholes we were sitting at our isolated table talking about the time the Butcher shit his pants while trying to fart on a kid. (If you don’t have brothers, I know this will come as something of a shock. If you do have brothers, you’re thinking, “That’s nothing!”) And my brothers got to laughing so hard that tears were just streaming down their faces. They’re just sobbing over this in public.
And just when one would calm down, the other would say something like.
“Yeah, I’d love to do that to that guy again. But bare assed. No need to make more laundry.”
“I don’t think he’s going to sit still for that” I interject.
“You know he’s a PI now.”
“So I could totally hire him to track himself down!”
Tiny Cat Pants 