"So I says to him, I'm explaining to the cop, 'yeah, maybe I had a coupla wobbly pops; I'm just waiting for my daughter, and she doesn't finish school 'til like three-thirty. What am I supposed to do for three hours? Right? Well, I musta said something wrong, or he ran my plates and saw my priors, 'cause next thing you know I'm face down in the mall parking lot and the asshole's cuffing me. I was pretty blitzed so I didn't bother wrestling the guy, besides I got an appearance in a month and this wouldn't help -- but Gooner, riding shotgun, pulls a broom handle outta nowhere. Whatever. Long story short, it was a clusterfuck. I should plant some coke on the ex, so I can just get custody and not have to worry about this bullshit anymore. It'd be fucking easy. So yeah: Mondays."
These are the days my friends and these are the days my friends. Please direct any concerns or complaints to harveykornbluth@gmail.com.
Sunday, March 30
Words I hate
The term, "wobbly pops." As in:
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