Who? Me? Oh, right, I was going to tell you about my weekend. Friday evening, just like every other day, I rode the train home from the office. A handsome devil such as myself can never go long without attracting the attentions of some winsome lasses. It wasn't until I made quite a show of bawling out the foreign red-cap you see behind me their that these three stopped eyeing my rugged visage. There's not much in this world that a few well placed profanities at someone whose different won't take care of.
Whilst watering the lawn, the mailman paid me a visit. That son of a bitch got bawled out as well. Delivering the mail at six o'the clock like that. He did bring me an invitation to a neighborhood cook-out, however, so I stopped short of turning the hose on him.
I did, however, turn the hose on that bucktoothed little scamp that lives next door. Shouting and carrying on like that over sugared confections. The gathering of neighborhood children did remind me that it was time to pick the children up from their extra-curricular activities at the academy.
I arrived just in time to see Crossing guard Feely McGrabberson attempting to "help" the children across the street. The smarmy old bastard didn't stop winking at the children the whole time I was shouting at him about his choice of "hand signals."
After a large dinner of steak, and several glasses of scotch, the misses and I retired to the bedroom for a round of what I call "The winner of the big game." I don't know who took this picture of us, but I'll shoot the fop if I catch him peering through my bedroom window again.
The children's grandmother, and her "special friend" Hattie drove in Friday afternoon to watch the children while we were away at the barbecue. Judging by the speed at which they entered the driveway, it's about time to adjust the old gammer's medications again.
When we left, the children were settled in to watching their stories on the television. I took a photograph - I was so proud to see junior enraptured by the killing of indigenous Americans, just like his old man. Filthy savages.
After a short drive of a few blocks in the trusty precision velocipede, we arrived at the much anticipated cook-out. That thirsty machine went through nearly a quarter of gallon of gas in the three or four hundred yards we traveled. It's a good thing our great country has more than enough fuel to last through the times of our grandchildren's grandchildren!
As we parked the car, some silly constable of the peace ran up and shouted at me for parking in the wrong zone, or somesuch. "I pay taxes, good sir, I shall park on the side of the public street anywhere I want." I told him. "Hmmm, smells like old Jim is barbecuing some pork chops!"
I had the house boy bring in my contribution to the evening's repast. Nothing like a tall, cool, high-quality macrobrew from the good old U S of A to go along with some delicious smoked meats! There's no beer from strange, foreign lands served in my neighborhood - who knows what goes into that horse urine!
"So I said, 'Bill, you sallow cad, of course it was MY hand.'" The barbecue was a complete success - a good time was had by all, as is to be expected after eating so much good red meat.
And, finally, a tip to my fellow gentleman. Not only are delicious American beers a welcome addition to any cook-out's menu, give a few to your spouse in the privacy of your own home. Many a game of "The winner of the big game" can be started in this fashion! I hope you chaps and lasses had a pleasant weekend as well!
