ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ



Monday, July 8, 2013

Freak show

My grandson Zach snapped the following picture.

After I find my handgun and some extra ammo clips, I'm off to Foxboro for my walk-on tryout with the New England Patriots.



When Wifey spied that pic, she said, "You look like a jackass," what, with those tattoo sleeve thingamabobs on my arms.

And to that, I said, "Exactly! You nailed it!" Very perceptive. Currently, something approaching half of the Amerikan population spends my hard-earned, redistributed income so they can look like jackasses. You know, like 60s-era circus freak show tent oddities.

You know, if what folks really want to do is express themselves, they ought to dispense with the ink, the pins and needles and the Hula Hoop-laden ears and try revisiting a long-lost relic formerly known as the English language.

Sez me.

Later 

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