Thursday, March 4, 2010
Strange things are afoot at the Circle K
Like shirtless greased up taintlickers with unearned Maori ab-tatts hitting on young Carly Simon. It’s enough to inspire your humble narrator to kick back and enjoy a tasty Ubiquitous Red Cup of quality Night Train Express fine fortified wine.
For, after downing a few bottles, I have a confession to make.
Once, while traveling with Bedouin oxen herders by camel through outer Uzbekistan, in a fit of pique I slapped a migrant Armenian named Armen with a dead halibut for bruising my lettuce.
It’s not really relevant to this post. But it’s been bothering me and I needed to share.
