April 18, 2005
Overheard on the Street: A cell phone call
Been awhile since I've heard a cell phone call worth posting, but happily, some new material has come my way. File this under how not to improve marital relations:
Comments are disabled.
Post is locked.
What am I going to do tonight? Same thing I do every night, go home to that bitch of a wife of mine. She's been sitting on the couch all day doing nothing but eating take-out Chinese food and when I get home the first thing she's going to say to me is 'Do I look fat?' And I'm gonna say, hell yeah bitch you look fat!!
The streets of New York are a never ending source of delight, amusement, and material.
Posted by: Random Penseur at
12:04 PM
| Comments (3)
| Add Comment
Post contains 127 words, total size 1 kb.
1
*SNORT*
The sad thing is, that small...um...minded man will probably not say a word. Nothing. Nada. Zip. But, boy would I love to be a fly on the wall if he did say that to his wife. Of course, then I'd get squished when she pummelled him against said wall.
Ah, Colorado Springs just doesn't have enough fodder for people watching/listening. Too many redneck/white-bread/religious right wackjob types.
Posted by: Allison at April 20, 2005 09:36 PM (cNk3g)
2
And they wonder why there are so many homicides in NYC.....
Posted by: Mark at April 21, 2005 11:13 PM (nEnlD)
3
And it reminds me of the old joke:
Mr. Smith: "Boy did I ever blow it yesterday. I went to buy a box of crackers from the store. The clerk had the biggest rack I've ever seen. When she asked me what I wanted I said, 'A box of Titz crackers, please'."
Mr. Jones: "I know what you mean. Yesterday at breakfast with my wife, I meant to say -'Please pass the salt, dear', but it came out as 'You ruined my life, you fucking bitch'."
Posted by: Mark at April 23, 2005 10:07 AM (Bw5ce)
12kb generated in CPU 0.0087, elapsed 0.0443 seconds.
62 queries taking 0.039 seconds, 124 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.
62 queries taking 0.039 seconds, 124 records returned.
Powered by Minx 1.1.6c-pink.
