May 18, 2010
The mom of the house of The Great Wall of Our Street told me yesterday that the old couple who live next door to her are mad about The Great Wall of Our Street.
She heard this from the mason and has confirmed it by attempting to speak to them. Her cheery greeting was met with stone silence and blank stares.
She can't for the life of her imagine why they would be mad about a nice addition to the neighborhood like The Great Wall of Our Street. After all, a rising tide lifts all boats, and that sort of thing.
I said that the wall restricted the view from their front yard and Dad, now having joined us, offered, "There's not that much to see from their front yard, anyway."
That should clear things up.
Bowling on Monday nights concluded last evening and not a minute too soon to satisfy me. As usual I was reminded about why I never actively participate in organizations. I'm a bowler, not a bureaucrat.
The power and prestige of being league champions was on the line last night, so rules were scrutinized, lest the barbarians sneak under the gate and snatch the prize.
For all the whining and manipulation by the crybaby-in-chief, a sourpuss named Jack, a band of interlopers swooped in and stole the crown that was rightfully his.
Too bad they couldn't have the championship match inside the Great Wall of Our Street. No one is going to breach that sucker.
Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky