Is there a draft in here?

Barring an unforeseen boycot drawing steam on NFL draft sponsor Bud Light's Dillys Dilly (or not) upwards of 200,000 NFL fanatics will converge on KC's Union Station for this weekend's NFL draft.

Last year, 600,000 went to Vegas for the event, and in 2019, some 300,000 made their way to Nashville for same. Of course, Vegas has gambling, Nashville has music, and we (KC) have BBQ, so, expect a whole lotta fat guys like me, roaming the streets in the gear of Lions and Jaguars and Bears OH NO!

This year, 17 'can't miss' prospects (and their families) have been invited to sit in The Green Room, steps away from the podium where NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell might call their name once drafted. I say might because even though they're 'can't miss', sometimes all 32 teams pick in the first round Thursday night, they do miss occasionally. Among those past to walk out Thursday night with that hang-dog look: Geno Smith, Johnny Football and Aaron Rodgers. It's completely up to them if they wanna come back for Friday/Saturday, and it's the NFL's call whether they pickup their expenses (or not).

Feel sorry for those snubbed Green Room guys? Don't. First round guys get 4 year contracts for $20 to $40 mil...2nd round $6 to $12 mil; 3rd $6.25 mil; 4th $4.5 to $5.4 mil; 5th $4 mil; 6th just under $4 mil, down thru Mr. Irrelevant who makes $3.925 mil.

What's a 'Mr. Irrelevant'? The title belongs to the very last player selected. Don't feel too sorry for him however either, for in addition to the nice contract, he travels Scot-free to Newport Beach, CA for a weeklong celebration in his honor. Once there, he will get 'The Lowsman Trophy', a spoof on The Heisman Trophy that depicts a football player fumbling the ball.

It's snotnose heaven... they can run a 40, kick a field goal, do the vertical jump, try on actual NFL gear, cardboard cutouts for pics, and even a FB clinic.

Wanna go? It's free but ya gotta download the NFL OnePass app. Wanna sit close? Close to Roger? That'll be $4,200 for a 3-day ticket, but you do get some kinda gift...yippee.

If you do go, no booze, hounds, weapons, glass bottles, laser pointers or drones.

Hungry? Booths from 20 local restaurants will have donuts, steak, gourmet mac and cheese, Thai, Italion sausage, and of course quite a few BBQ options.

Thirsty? I got nuttin, I assume pop, tea and water.

Gotta pee? Depends. I ain't seen anything on # of Ori's.

History? OK. At an owner's meeting in 1936, small market teams expressed their frustration for continued losing (rings a bell), and current player acquisition method. No draft, whoever paid the most, got the player. Sooooooo, somehow they agreed to hold a draft, going in inverse order from win-loss records the previous year.

Worked, kinda sorta...

But, that very first guy taken, Jay Berwanger, couldn't agree to salary terms with the Eagles, so they traded his rights to the Bears, and they got nowhere with him so he became a foam rubber salesman. He does live in NFLdraft infamy for that AND for being the only NFL draft pick ever tackled by a US  President.. 1934, U of Chicago versus Michigan - the tackler, Gerald Ford.

I was gonna tell you some pretty decent players who were not drafted at all, (Tony Romo, Emmitt Thomas, Night Train Lane, Lou Groza, Warren Moon, Kurt Warner, Antonio Gates and Deron Cherry, a free agent punter) and a couple that were drafted but chose baseball (Kirk Gibson and Dave Winfield) and that there are a few fun names expected to be drafted this year (Bumper Pool, Money Hunter and Chris Blewitt, a kicker of all things) and that Tom Brady was the 199th pick in his draft, but names and lists can be boring.

And that one time, band camp, AFL draft day (before the merger, WAY before cell phones), an NFL group labeled "Babysitting Policy", sequestered 27 top college players in a hotel, unkown whereabouts to anyone - so the AFL guys couldn't contact 'em after they drafted 'em.

Whew, quoting Forrest when he ended his run, "I'm pretty tired, I think I'll go home now."

Love, Victurd

I've decided to enter the transfer portal.....

Ahm, Victor. College took you six years the first time. You will be facing questions like Joe is gonna..."Ya sure you're gonna be here that long?"

Bite me question asker.... run along now.. I've cheesy fries to eat... Snapchats to snap back at... Netflix to binge until August 'when I report'... and besides, I can't hear Ariana's 'No Tears Left To Cry' with all your babbling... OK Victor, but you're gonna get all that gooey cheese crap on your new Thrasher hoodie.. GO! NOW!

Victor? Yes, damnit? Are you like mad at Liberty? I can't fathom you still playing a sport - but did they like change coaches on you? Not enough playing time? LOL! (Sorry!... kinda!)

Jane, you ignorant slut.. didn't you read my Twitter?  

"I've decided to enter the transfer portal.  I'd like to thank my coaches, (background giggles) especially the ones who always brought beer coolers to the Sunday night softball league for the past 40 years... the 5 or 6 fans who always came.... the 3 blog readers here.. Please, don't let all these purple spots foolya, I bleed Liberty Bluejay blue, always have, always will. I'm tired. Tired of being old. Blessed I know, but time to roll on. I'm thinking about a college near a beach...and I know I'll have to face my disgust for sand in my buttcrack head on, but oh well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. #hashbrown, hashish, hashtag, however they say it."

First thing I'm gonna do is grow the FRONT of my hair out, it's 'the thing' now. I know I'm blessed to still have a pretty good growth of hair, and I thank dad for that, as 'baldness skips a generation.' If I grow the front out I can hide a lotta wrinkles. I'll get me a backpack, no idea what I'll put in it, buy me some 'Chucks', seems to be the thing again.

Where will you go? What will you study? HOW will you pay?

One question at a time there Clark, I thought you were a 'mild mannered reporter'.... I've narrowed the list to two:

University of California, San Diego. North Campus, near La Jolla. Gonna try to get me some NIL money from interning at Torrey Pines (I have clubhouse attendant experience)... 'Tween studies I'll hangout at Black's Beach, it's where the UCSD surf team goes, oh, and coeds go watch them. I understand there is a nude beach there but I would NEVER....(Lightbulb: Binoculars, that's what I'll put in my backpack.) I wonder if they have a Sigma Nu chapter there?

Or................

University of the Virgin Islands, St. Thomas campus. Unlike Johnny Cash (he's been everywhere: Boston, Charleston, Dayton, Louisiana, Wasington, Houton, Kingston, Texarkana, Monterey, Faraday, Santa Fe, Tallapoosa, Glen Rock, Black Rock,  Little Rock,Grand Lake, Devils Lake, Crater Lake, for Pete's sake... and prolly St. Thomas too..) Unlike Johnny, I ain't. Oh, I've been to Claycomo, Pleasant Valley, Eureka Springs once, and Branson when I was a kid, but...I HAVE BEEN TO ST. THOMAS, and it's breathtaking... Snorkle (another idea for backpack.)

Gotta hand it to you Victor, great choices. Thanks. What will you study?  Well, I've butchered English since that very first word in 1954 (dad-da insteada daddy), so that.

And how will you pay? Well, even though I lean to being a Democrat, I don't agree with those who lean for that forgiveness crap.  I'd take out a 30 year note... then they could just mail me the bill...But? But, how will they find you?

To everything urn, urn, urn..there is a season urn, urn, urn, And a time to every purpose under Heaven (I hope, someday)

Bye. Gotta go study me some texting abbreviations, Google "what is Blu-ray?".. then, run to the Thrift Stores and gitme some Tie-Dye shirts and baggy pants. Chicks dig 'em,

Here I come sandy beach! (Boom. A bidet, that'd fit in my backpack wouldn't it?)

Love, Victurd

And with the #6 pick.......

Sammy loved him some women... He was deft of verse.. handsome... funny... With those tools in his pocket he scanned the restaurant, and across the way ooh la la, there she sat with a couple of her friends ... His eyes caught hers, smiles incurred.. so, of course, there he goes....

"Hi folks," he said to all, but eyes on one... "My name is Sammy," as he then looked around to all.. then, refocused on her. "Ma'am, I gotta tell you...you look just like my 6th wife." "GOOD LORD, MAN...how many times have you been married?"...... "Five."

I love me some love, and while I'm personally in the "Table for one please" mode, I find the relationships of others, fascinating.. 

Fitty-two years, started dating in High School...  

Us? Well, my sister moved to KC 30 years ago, I came to visit, she set me up with a friend of hers, we hit off...back to Virginia to finish college, a year later "I do" and I did KC too!

My own folks. Met in school. Eloped. It was the tail end of the Depression, no one had buckaroos... Along for the ride, and to serve as Best Man, Maid of Honor, aka witnesses, mom's cousin and hubby, great great friends. Back to Depression, money tight...ONE motel room, turned into 'two' with a rope hung lengthwise between the beds to divide, blankets hung over the rope.

"More than Carter has little liver pills" (I'd always heard this too, but I had to Wiki to learn these were marketed heavily up until the 60's to cure a variety of woes.) I don't remember the ads but I'm sure I musta seen a commercial during Jack LaLane, or perhaps Guiding Light...

Anyways, we all know some really cool stories. More stories than Carter has pills. He was my boss. SHE was my boss. We started kindergarden together in the 50's, never dated in school, both had longterm marriages go awry and whaddayaknow, we've been together four years now.

I'd gotten groceries at WallyWorld, and as I go to load 'em in the car and lo and behold there's some dude loading his groceries in my car. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Ahm, putting my groceries in my car to take them home. THIS IS MY CAR. Nuh uh. UH HUH, and with that I clicked my fob thingy to honk the horn. OMG, I'm so sorry, my car is exactly like yours, And it was, and it was parked right next to mine. We started talking, joking. He was cute. Very. Finally he said "OK, I'll get my groceries out, but only if you let me use them to make you dinner? That was seven years ago, and as Paul Harvey would say...well, you know.

On a rollercoaster at an amusement park - we both were in parties of three and were the odd ones out so we got seated together.

Cancun, at a swim up bar. Hit it off. Me, Missouri, he, a truck driver from Ohio. He sold his house, bought a motor home, moved here, and few months later eventually moved in with me.

Laundromat. We met in a YouTube comment fight.  At a Halloween costume parade/party for dogs. Craigslist, seriously. I managed a fast food joint, he delivered the bread.

Of all places, at a bar.

My then boyfriend introduced us at a gas station. Neighbors. (Victor, you could be a real smartass with your punctuation. Huh? Yeah, you know, like "Can I have a little, sugar?" Nah, that's dumb, might offend someone.) At a hostel in Thailand, he's from England, I'm American.

And all that's involved. Smooches. Passing pats on derrieres.Long drives, walks, movies. Arguments, long nights in the extra bedroom. Ahm, making up. Flat tires, flat beers, expired food in the fridge tossed, yummy lasagna made with each alternating a layer. A text, note, surprise gift left in the car for the other. Inlaws, best friends, block parties, whointhehell is that at our ring doorbell?

Kids. Oh boy, girl does that change things, but, that's maybe a blog for another day.

Relationships are yummy, for sure at least at some point. I commend all relationships and every single one is unique, like yours.

Time to go. Laundy. Apartment here, no washer or dryer here. Not a fan of going to the laundromat, then again, I guess ya never know. 

Sock it to me,

Love, Victurd

I get it..kinda... sorta... maybe... I think...

Twenty-four 8th grade girl's basketball player's eyeballs. Probably twenty-four minutes into a 'pick-and-roll' drill. I study them eyeballs wishing they could talk, and, they kinda sorta do. We'd progressed from walking (with verbal instruction), to jogging, minimal coaching input, to full out running... "Nice pick!" to.. "OH YEAH BABY" ('cept, didn't say BABY, I could get fired for that, and I understand that.)

Anyways, their feet, dribbling, pivots, picks, passes, no thinking, just doing, were in effect telling me "The rain in Spain stays mainly in the Plain", BY GEORGE SHE'S GOT IT, I THINK THEY'VE GOT IT!" I was all kindsa back-patting myself, imagining Coach of The Year nominations....

Then...

Then, Tammy raised her hand. "Yes Tammy?"... "Coach, are we talking about offense or defense?"

Such, is life, understanding.

You need a new pair of pups so you walk in Foot Locker. (You might anyways, I'd prolly hit up a Thrift Store for a $3 almost new pair.) Size 11, wide. Ya see aisles and aisles, maybe 65% women's, 35% men's. Why is that, Imelda? 

Today's blog idea is about 'Understanding.'  Holy mackerel, we might as well start male/female.. Remember that post that showed a book with a kajillion pages entitled "How to understand women"? For every 'tort' there is an equal and opposite retort and they/she would probably say "It's very easy to understand the male."

I understand that too.

Back to Foot Locker. After seven total minutes, six aisles, getting a neck crick looking high and low, I've eyeballed size 11, wide.

WHAT?  Not everyone's like me? There's six aisles (shoes on each side), nine up and down shelves on each side. That's one helluva lot to even attempt to "see the view from my shoes." 

Of course I am perfect. Relax, I jest. I was being fahsee... fasee.. faceet..faceat..faceti.. kidding. But too.. somewhere along the way (Yogi Berra said "When you come to the fork in the road, take it") somewhere along the way we run into someone extolling "I am right, always. There is only my school of thought, size 11, wide." Yes, I'm old, but at least 8 tracks had eight, not just one.

Sadly, I ain't kidding. Why God gave ears to 'em (I am always right, don't even try, I won't listen) I'll never know.

Thank goodness for the goodness of teachers, parents, siblings, aunt, uncles, friends, bosses, coworkers, shoe salesmen (You're welcome Al) who say things like "yeah but what about.....", or "What if this...happened", or, "Playing devil's advocate for a moment....." AND, LISTENERS, who may or may not agree, but at least, LISTEN.

God bless the USA (for many)...as well as Bless the USA (for many.)

I can just hear Harry Reasoner say, "let's always stay open to reason."

There's a whole lot in life I don't understand. High heels, Crocs, Cowboy boots, Platform, Roller, Cleats, Pointed toe, Peep-toes, Lotus?, Wooden, Flamenco, Cantabrian Albarcas, huh?

If we are right 100% of the time, sure, it would be the thrill of victory.. but it takes two to tango, Fred and Ginger, George and Gracie, Al an Peg, Siegfried and Roy, Barney and Fred..Barney and Andy, 'Ain't' Bea and Ope... Spongebob and Patrick, .rich man, poor man.. all religions, or not... Donkeys and Elephants, Elephants and Donkeys.. Yin, yang. Otherwise, there'd only be agony of defeet.

As always, please know I have no intention of preaching.

I am human, hear me snore, get mad, blurt, hurt, have been thru rage on the road, tears of sorrow, wrong about things, lost, found, much.

We will never understand it all. We WILL error, others will too.

I just wish we, the size 11 wide wearing dead guy's shoes, and the brand spankin new pair'a Cantabrian Albarcas, would, could get along - whether we agree, agree to disagree, understand one another, or not.

Love, Victurd

A walk in the park...

 Tail wag.... approach from behind... buttsniff.... "Hi, I'm Charley."

(Editor's note... Why do dogs sniff each other's butts? "When one dog greets another with a nose in the derriere, (they're) basically getting a brief biography of (their) new friend, written in scent molecules and pheromones," according to an article by Mental Floss. Two pouches — known as anal sacs — produce these scents, which provide information to other dogs about everything from your pet's health and reproductive status, happiness, gender, owner and diet, the article said.)

Charley gets a reciprocal sniff... 'Sup Charley, I'm Rosy. Do you get to come here (the dog park) often? Are you firing on me Rosy? That's like what a human might say?  Ohh, no, nooo.. I was just making Chihuahua-talk..I can tell you're 'High rent', me, I live in a 2nd floor apartment, I rarely get to come here, you?

Well, yes, I do have a big-ass fenced backyard, but don't assume money makes life Gravy Train Rosy. Oh I can run and run in my backyard...there's lab named Susie that lives next door, but (or butt, pun intended) a wooden fence separates us, thus, no buttsniffing. I hearya Charley. There is a Rot that lives on the 3rd, butt we only see each other in passing.. I don't think he's had much education though, in fact, every time he sees me he slobbers horribly, and worse, he sticks his little dinger out. Wow, that is crude Rosy.

You know what I find goofy Rosy? Dogmatch.com (coming here to the dog park), is sooooo easy compared to what my master Vinny goes thru. Yeah, how's that? Well, he's divorced. He's got tons of money so it should be easy for him, meeting chicks, but it's arduous. He spends all kindsa money on dating sites like OKCupid, eharmony, Tinder, then he spends hours and hours online, flirting, chainsmoking, until finally he gets the courage to meet someone. And he hasn't found one he likes, wants to...oh, 'you know'...

Yeah, 'I know', and nope. He goes to meet 'em in Overland Park, Belton, Smithville, yada... And what happens?  Well, he always comes home dejected, pets me on the head and says something like "I just dropped a hunnerd bucks on a stupid meal and I'll never see her again. I wish I was a dog like you Charley."  Dang..a hunnerd bucks would buy a lotta Purina Dog Chews.

You're telling me Rosy. One time Vinny took me with him - we drove all the way to Joplin..met at a park..gal brought her Chow, we sniffed, no interest, they idle chit chatted for what seemed like forever..then he told me to jump in the truck, "time to go home," he never ever even sniffed her butt!

What a waste of time that musta been, here (dogmatch.com) it's eassy. Yep, here, we just run up, sniff (no, hours online, long drives, expensive meals), we just buttsniff, can tell a lot right away..if it's not a 'fur sure'... NOPE, we just run-on and go sniff another.

Yup. Hey Charley,  nuttin personal butt when I sniffed I could tell you'd had some plumbing done. Did you get to have any pups? Yeah, thanks for asking Rosy, I did, two litters (different puppy mamas)..7 boys, 8 girls. Then, and I wouldn't talk to Vinny for like 6 months...he grabbed my leash.. I assumed we were coming here, or Joplin, PetSmart...nope, to the dam vet, snip snip. You have more than one litter? Nuttin' personal either but I could tell from your boobies hangin' a bit you were a mom.

Charley I should kick your ever lovin' butt for saying that, and yes, one litter, three girls...'Benny' never even came to see 'em after our night of fun... Charley, can you take a joke? Sure. Life's fun, funny, I can handle it.

Ah, nevermind, it was stupid anyways. Maybe some day we could meet up for a Bud Light?  Sure. I never understood all the hullabaloo about that anyways. Me neither - hey, gotta go, Vinny's hollerin', it's been nice sniffin'. Yep, same here. Hey Charley don't forget your tennis ball!

Arf arf, dilly dilly,

Love, Victurd

Come and listen to a story about a man named.........Red?

I suck at golf.....

Oh Victor, this is your normal, self depricating self... You WORK at a golf course, you can't suck at it.

Thanks, but I suck at golf.

There are four of us.  We've pretty much known each other since before JFK was in office. Damn Victor, you ARE old. Yes, bite me, and I/we are blessed. We play golf, in good weather, pretty much every Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

We gamble. VICTOR! Don't you know the Law, Cops, Deputies, authorities from  Liberty, Kearney, Clay County, Missouri, maybe even Manhattan District Attorney Alvin Bragg are listening, reading? FOR SURE, Facebook, Meta and Zuck will see!

About that. We bet a dollar. My partner and I bet a dollar against the other two guys, then, (we'll call him 'Red'), then, Red and I bet a dollar head to head.

I'm more worried about my buddies being upset by me posting this on Facebook, albeit anonymously. You see, their opine of Facebook is "Now the WORLD will know! Faceboook is poopy, for gossips... has HSV (herpes simplex virus), I/WE WANT NO PART OF IT!"

 Relax fellas. Yes, there are in fact instances of TMI (color me guilty), dirty laundry (I probanly did that too.) Sure, Facebook has all that, plus "Trump sucks"/"NO, Brandon does!"... and "Bill Self cheats!"/"HA! We live rent free in your head - show us your National Championship trophies!"...

But...

But too... there is fun on Facebook. Grandkid pics, funny jokes, videos of people falling down, amazing dog tricks and cats demonstrating "we don't care."

So, they, he ('Red') are likely to be upset with me.  Eh, oh well.

Victor. Seriously, are you really bad at golf?

Well, I'll let you decide. First hole, our course. A row of ten or so two-story houses on the left, and a large pond running the length on the right. Many folks have hit the houses (me too) but as far as I know I am the only person to ever hit one OVER the houses. (It's OK, kids were in school, I waited a bit for ambulance sirens, didn't hear none, played on. I've hit hundred$ of dollars of balls into the pond.

Party on Garth, I mean tell us more about how you suck Victor...

I've had lessons in Liberty, Kearney, Orlando (twice). I've fallen asleep after watching literally hours of youtube instruction videos ( in my defense, even though it's English, hard to understand those Brits.)

I've swung and missed, MANY times. I've dribbled balls a few inches, feet, yards, in vitually every possible angle, right AND left. It got so bad my buddies said "let's make 6 the maximum score on a hole." Then, sometime later, 5.

Wow, you really do suck. Uh huh.

Red beats me like a drum, with regularity. I think I beat him once in July last year, and once in April the year before. Victor? Yep? Ain't it kinda dumb to continue to bet him? Sure. I've made him break a twenty dollar billl many times..paid him with 4 quarters a few times, and even a couple rolls of pennies once.

BUT...

But, on the rare occasion I do win (see pic below) it is SO fun! I tease, tell him he sucks, and now, I tell the World, cops, the FBI and Alvin Bragg.

Editor's note. I love these guys and I think the same is felt across the board. We have more fun than should be legal. We have a couple beers after.. discuss events from 50, 60 years ago.. sports, '57 Chevys (yes, old Ford Mustangs too), old girlfriends, ex'es, glory days, hip and knee replacements, cataracts, and whether derriere has 3, or 4 R's. (ty spellcheck). Without them saying "Damn, you walk just like Joe Cocker" they help me down muddy hills, go into the forest to retrieve my errant shots, get the ball outta the cup, and even pick me up at the door when it's time to go home. Blessed I am.

Go Big Red. Don't shoot me for this, and please continue to let me win once a year of so...

Love, Victurd

Bora Bora... Bonbons on the sofa... A trip to the gas station...

Oh boy... the hell is he going with this one?

I'm so glad you asked.  Woke up, fell outta bed, dragged a comb across my head...

All those are conditional. Woke up: 'must pee'. Fell outta bed: 'must look around for some damn thing to put my hand on to brace me to help boost me up. (Don't you dare laugh at me/that!, you're old too, aren'tya?!) Drag a comb across my head: Usually that's true, I stare at the mirror, one sidea my hair is ok, the other, flat as a pancake, in need of water and 'poofing.'

It is, so you must. Death, taxes, touching home on a homer, putting away 10% of your income every paycheck and no touchy til you get brown spots. (Damnit darnit, I missed that last memo.)

Or, as Mr. T might say, "I pity the fool who would write a blog and share that." (I'm reminded of my favorite Fleetwood Mac song, "Oh Well.")

Basically, stuff happens propelling the need for other stuff to 'have to' happen.

Eric Burdon said "We gotta get out of this place", ie I need a vacation: Bora Bora.  I'm bored, starving: Bonbons on the sofa. (Truth, I don't think I've ever had a Bonbon, so Chili Cheese Fritos for me. 

Wasn't it Newton (Isaac, not Grundy) who said "For every action, sumpin' else has gotta happen."

Pavlov, bell, "treat?" Bell, "treat?" Bell, "treat?" And finally, bell. no treat, slobber, slobber.

Woke up, fell outta bed (VICTOR! You already told us!)

I mean, (damn I loathe hearing that to start a sentence! So, does that mean, the next time I start a sentence and DON'T preface it with 'I mean', you should be leary?)

I mean, sorry, you had heard the 'fell outta bed' part. I meant to say, I felt like I had to blog. Before I continue, please know I am way beyond blessed and thankful to have anyone read this. Sometimes, "rabbit in a snowstorm" happens, ie, staring at a blank page. No ideas so I know it would suck.

Anyways, we old farts, born 1940, 50, 60-something, no likey 'have to's'.

We done did that. Must: have baby. Change diaper. Work (as that made us all, but particularly Maynard G. Krebs, cringe.) Go to meeting. Stay awake at meeting. Drive to soccer practice. To Piggly Wiggly. Drive from soccer practice. Assigned seats (yuck). Homework. And, do it all again the next year, the next year, bell, treat, bell, treat, slobber slobber.

I remember from a previous blog we discussed looking at life as "GET TO" and not "HAVE TO". In fact, one friend said her friend's dad, always corrected them, "No, you get to!"

That, pardon the pun, rings a bell (slobber slobber) with aging.

Now, life ain't all about being dealt five cards, you MUST play these. Well.. no. Not if we don't wanna. Misdeal, reshuffle, or here, hand us the damn deck, we'll pick our own.

Of course, there are still have to's, but the beauty with aging is we can be deliciously selfish with our time, order, day.

(Nodding head up and down, akin to slobber slobber.) OK Victor, I think I get it. If we're like Eric, we gotta get outta here, it's Bora Bora, or Destin, Vegas, yada. And if we ain't wantin' to do any 'o that we can say 'screw you keto' and plop on the sofa and eat Bonbons all day? By George I think you've got it.

But, Victor, knock knock. Who's there? Blog reader. Yes (and thank you for not ringing that damn bell.) So we get the Bora Bora and the Bonbons, but, the hell?  A trip to the gas station? That ain't fun and gas just went up twenty-five cents overnight?

I mean, it fits into, aging, have to, get to, bell, slobber slobber. I saw something once I really liked. It said something like, "Hang out with people who could even make something like going to the gas station fun."

Victor? Yes? Did you mean that, you didn't start with "I mean." Nice catch, and yes, we are so lucky to be in the company of wonderful, happy, fun, friends.

Victor? Yes? I took your advice. I picked Harv'. Me and him went to the gas station and we actually DID have a blast! Thanks. You're welome, and thank you for reading. Well sure! Hey, remember when they used to have those bells when you pulled into the gas station?

Slobber slobber,

Love, Victurd