Monday Bear

So I think the crazy sandwich lady at McCallie is mad at me. She ususally tells me how much she likes my dresses and says how her parents wouldn’t let her be a hippie and how she calls her old dear mother every day and how I eat a wrap with lettuce, cheese, bell pepper, and onion every day. But now, it’s all business. She makes me a sandwich and hands me a plate. What did I do? Did she find out she actually creeped me out a little bit? Does she think I did something I didn’t do? I’m losing sleep over this, folks.

Update: Nevermind. She’s back to her old crazy, sandwich-makin’ ways.

Matt: We’ll be home after 6.
Mama: After sex? Matt, that’s more than I wanted to know.

You know, Clam Digger? It’s that game where Tyrone calls you up and says, “I bet I can dig more clams than you stupid,” So pack up your car, and you drive to the beach, and the object of the game is to find parking.

So you know how when people are smoking, it seems perfectly fine to tell the, “Don’t smoke. It’s going to kill you.” Welp, I’m going to go to McDonalds and find a fat person and tell them, “Take that hamburger out of your mouth. It’s going to kill you.”

Liz: But Mama, I don’t want no stuffed bra no more.
Mom: Here’s your one chance, Fancy, don’t let me down.

So in conclusion, Pteri says that my blogs are too serious lately. Because we all know that I blog about politics and finances and religion and other things that matter.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 1st, 2007 at 5:36 PM and is filed under Breasts, Family, Food. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.