I thought Bill the Cat had died in my lap last night as I sat on the deck with a whiskeh at 4 a.m. He was all dead and wasn’t breating or anything. And I was all like gee, that’s too bad, and we’ll miss you buddy. And then (s)he started breathing again.
Can’t catch a break.
So I told that guy to kiss my ass. And then he did. I sure told him.
Damnit Jim McDougal I’m a Whitewater prosecutor, not a bricklayer.
The phrase “hung like a horse” is there for a reason. So is the phrase “you don’t shit where you eat.” Believe me. Your housemates hate it.