me: “…So, big fan of the NBA are you?” hood: me: “Hip hop?” hood: me: “How ‘bout Kool-Aid? You like the cherry Kool-Aid?”* hood: me: hood: me: “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say…” hood: me: “…Ofay.”
August 2004
August 9, 2004
My second brief conversation with Senator Robert Byrd’s (D-WV) Grand Kleagle hood
me: “…So, big fan of the NBA are you?” hood: me: “Hip hop?” hood: me: “How ‘bout Kool-Aid? You like the cherry Kool-Aid?”* hood: me: hood: me: “Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say…” hood: me: “…Ofay.”
August 9, 2004
Moqtada al-Sadr defiant; says 360 dead “just a flesh wound,” vows to “bite the ankles” of the coalition
Reuters: “A firebrand Shi’ite cleric on Monday defied demands from Iraq’s interim government that his militia pull out of Najaf, after days of fierce clashes with U.S. Marines who say they have killed 360 of his fighters. Heavily armed Marines backed by aircraft tightened their noose around the holy city in heavy fighting Monday, but a senior U.S. military official denied coalition forces were hunting the young cleric Moqtada al-Sadr.
August 9, 2004
Moqtada al-Sadr defiant; says 360 dead “just a flesh wound,” vows to “bite the ankles” of the coalition
Reuters: “A firebrand Shi’ite cleric on Monday defied demands from Iraq’s interim government that his militia pull out of Najaf, after days of fierce clashes with U.S. Marines who say they have killed 360 of his fighters. Heavily armed Marines backed by aircraft tightened their noose around the holy city in heavy fighting Monday, but a senior U.S. military official denied coalition forces were hunting the young cleric Moqtada al-Sadr.
August 8, 2004
If instead of a pampered heiress Teresa Heinz Kerry were a bar of soap
THK: “I’ll be having my breakfast on the terrace today, Conchita. Make sure there’s no pulp in the orange juice this time, you hear?” Conchita: THK: “Conchita…?” Conchita: “Here’s an idea: why don’ you try esqueezing your own damn orange juice, you bossy, evil bar of soap?”
August 7, 2004
Scenes from my driveway, continued x 31
Me: “Nice t-shirt, racist.” Deadbeat Neighbor: “I beg your pardon?” Me: “You heard me, you lynch-happy moonshine cracker.” Deadbeat Neighbor: “But I’m not even wearing a shirt—“ Me: “Yeah, yeah, go tell it on a mountain, honky. I ain’t your punk bitch.”