I golfed yesterday. Dreadful score, but had fun. The little cutie in the jean cutoffs that I should not be looking at came around to sell me beer. It was humid and I was incredibly thirsty but all they had was Bud. Not being a big fan and sounding like a fey little yupster I asked if there was anything else. "Mich Golden Lite" she said, enthusiastically. So I took the Bud and I'll just say this: while it is de rigeur to diss Bud (I do it regularly myself) anyone who says that a really cold bottle of Bud doesn't taste damn good on a hot day is full of garbage. It reminds me of a guy I know who insists that there is not one item on Friday's menu he finds palatable--not a simple cheeseburger or a chicken sandwich or an order of ribs--nope, it's all awful. And that is all garbage.
....bought two shirts at Walmart yesterday. Aren't I cool? I'm going lowbrow and proving who the coolest one of them all really is! Actually, it's more of an experiment because truth be told the shirts were pretty nice and one was ten bucks, the other seven. I want to see if the shirts are really THAT much worse than shirts that cost 30 bucks or more. The verdict is still out, but it could be a new paradigm of cheapness for me that I look forward to.
The Doubtlessette has really hipped me to the world of bargain shopping and Walmart plays a big role in that. I went around looking to see if they had a shirt that just said WALMART on it to piss off the lefties, but didn't find any. I guess the people who shop there don't share my fascination with rubbing it in the noses of the NIMBY lefties.
...I've about had it with preening dems who seem to think they have us on the run now because of Michael I Hate Myself, America and Especially the Jocks That Made Fun Of Me In High School Moore's 911 and the convention., Edwards, etc. Got an email from a friend filled with petulant, teenage lies about "Haliburton" and Bush and the house of Saud and just snapped. I wrote back personally attacking the one who sent it to him as basically a homosexual since his name was Mitchell (hey, no offense Mitch, that's an entirely different kind of name).
I said that when I think of a Mitchell I think of a spoiled Boston Brahmin kid with short trousers and one of those big multi-colored suckers like Monty Burns had as a child, chiding his nanny "Higher! Higher!" as she pushed him in the swing. I said worse, too, which was unfortunate because it turned out Mitchell was his dad, or as he put it his "Father."
No one ever said I was a nice guy.
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