“Are You My Daddy?” “Dunno Girl. You from Olongapo City? PI? Dubai? Or Sydney Aussie? Or Mombasa? Or Hong Kong or Amman, or Tel Aviv, or Cairo? or Waco?
Please tell me Y’all ain’t from Waco! That Would Ruin my day!…. Catch My Drift? Oh Never Mind! What’s your DNA say? If I broke it, I’ll buy it”
*********
Never mind. I Suppose It’s Possible. Now Be A Dear And Buy Your Ole’ “Daddy” A Beer… Dear? Dear?
Where Ya goin’ Dear?–Come Back Here! I didn’t get my beer!”
(Cannot Properly EDIT This!
Damn You to Hell WordPress!–The Un-Pleasant Parts)
It’s Fittin’
Or it isn’t.
‘Fittin’’
No! It WAS Fittin’!
Very Much So!
So Well-Deserved!
Bravo to You Hattie!
In my mind, I think I have written some incredibly good shit for this here blog, (approaching my one-year anniversary) but then again, who can account for taste?
Certainly not me.
Anyway…
I had some interesting emails of late:
Mostly of the “Jeeze! Yer not dead… I hope.” Strain. (vernacular??)
“No Virginia, I am not dead.”(And No: There ain’t no Santa)
Yet.
Nope. Not yet. (dead: not Santa—try to stay with me here Friends…)
‘So sorry…’