It's July, it's hotter than the hinges, I'm sweating even in an industrially air-conditioned building, and I've got obligations that are demanding my time today, so I'm gonna hold my nose and put up a rerun.
Ol' Westy's bitten it. My old playmate, my old sparring partner. If he was in charge in Iraq, do you think we'd be in these straits with the IEDs and the foreign insurgents? Huh? Do you? Hell, no! We'd have "reached an important point, when the end begins to come into view," that's where we'd be. That's 'cos he wouldn't have his hands tied by hippie protesters and pusillanimous Congresscritters.
And hapless dingleberries like me.
3 comments:
Hi Neddie, No need to hold your nose, not so stinky at all. It was a great post -- and I even clicked through to read Lance's old post.
And now I've got the visuals in my head of Ol' Westy looming over you -- And Lance backing into those snowbanks!!
Ahhh. Too funny.
You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to; you say visuals, I say howling waking nightmares.
Yes. But we all have them and it makes us who we are.
No one is exempt -- and I'm so glad to hear it!
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