I have to thank my lucky stars that there aren't more puppy stores around here or else I'd be in there everyday like a child molester at 11:45 recess scoping out the talent. I can't get enough of those little suckers. I look at Brady everyday and pray to Juan Pierre that he turns into a black lab. But the bigger story here is the store turning away drunk people because of the bad decisions that alcohol influences. Music to my ears. I mean it when I say I think I make 1 mistake every time I drink. I'll be pitching a perfect game into the 9th only to leave my curve ball up too high and there goes history. Most of the time it's little shit like pissing a girl off by bringing up her period or tweeting at a 16 year old with a nice rumpus but every once in a while I'll get real revved up and whack a fucker in the face. I've actually done the math. I'm good for a fight once every 7 months. Kind of spooky. You know what else a couple brewskis do? They make me happy and delightful to be around. You want me to buy that shot? Put it on my tab. Do I think you lost weight? No but I'll tell you you're fucking glowing tonight. Will I promise to call you tomorrow? Absolutely. I'll even text you before I fall asleep tonight. Puppy for sale? Mine. Then 8 AM rolls around and the only thing I'm saying is, "ahhh shit." Well done, puppy store. Well done.
I'm killing it on the blogs today. KILLING IT. I never want this foot injury to go away.
No comments:
Post a Comment