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09/13/25   
Breaking down barriers like a drunken Mario Andretti

Waiter!

by Skippy LeBonne
bio/email
September 1, 2003
"A ball bearing wearing ranch dressing blessing Blanche's wedding? Upsetting," Ted grieved as he weaved his sleeve.

"Hey, what did you say?" Nate was late. "Speak up toward my head, Ted."

"Whose blues did Louis use?" Ted said.

"Choose? I ought not. Hey, have you met the redhead I caught sleeping on my cot?"

Nate's spate of dates elated Ted who, sated, rated aphids one to ten. A four wined and dined a nine, then mated, milked and bilked her.

"Sad, that fat cad," Ted lamented the male's betrayal. "You shoulda seen that green machine, a real operator. Waiter!"

"Later, sir. Later." The waiter didn't wait.

"I only wanted the quota of soda water afforded my daughter, that which I bought her. Did you see that? That guy looked at me like I was an otter potter," grumped Ted.

"Please, he's only busy tonight," read Ed as he looked in his book. "It's a lonely sight, you sitting here with beer in your tears."

"Cheers," Ted said to Ed, whose otter was dead.

Ed puffed a cigar he'd lit in the car.

"Smoke not lest ye be smoked," joked Ted, the smell already swelling his head.

"Well hell, Ted, these smell just swell. Can't you tell?" he asked as Ted fell.

Nate's plate nearly wrecked when Ted hit the deck. "What the heck, Ted? You almost made me jump and dump my rump!"

"Sorry for the bump," said Ted, feeling like a chump, cursing and nursing his lump. "I guess I'll just breathe later. Waiter!"


Quote of the Day
“The true measure of a man is four inches, four and a quarter. That's flaccid. No joke.”

-Samuel "Big" Johnson
Fortune 500 Cookie
Try to remember every dog has his day, and Tuesday, it's yours, Rags. Looks like you being selected as Oprah's Book of the Month wasn't the last bad thing that'll happen to you. You still haven't taken down the Christmas decorations? Son of a bitch.


Try again later.
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