Deadbeat neighbor: “Can I ask you a question?”
Me: “If you make it quick.”
Deadbeat neighbor: “Why on earth did you spend half the afternoon smashing all those apples with a shovel?”
Me: “Didn’t like their attitude. Simple as that.”
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Half the afternoon? Now that’s what I call dedication.
yeah, but how are you really feeling?
Something about them being saucy?
I was hoping you wouldn’t stoop to their level. Now you’re no better than they are.
We agree on the treatment of smart-apples, Jeff, Ken’s appeasement policies notwithstanding. I say make sauce of them, then treat them as if they were French.
Not one to mince words, but I think that the apple did not fall far from the tree, Mssr. Tell…
Those must have been some mighty big cojon … er, apples.
Is this the source of the phrase: “How do ya like them apples?”
Apple murderer! And a unilateralist as well! (Did you even bother to get France’s support before smashing the apples?) NO APPPLESAUCE FOR OIL!
Good for you, Jeff. Don’t take any guff from those snooty McIntoshes.
Although I hear Roma and Red Delicious are quite personable this time of year. Just don’t let out in the sun too long or they get drunk and VERY loud.
They must have been Granny Smiths-tart little things….
Honestly, its about damned time. I think I may have predicted this a while back.