If Michael Moore were a beanbag chair, the ‘70s wouldn’t have been half as fun. Not to mention the entire decade would’ve smelled like sausage patties and chicken fried steak.
update: And flop sweat.
update 2: And string cheese.
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Mmmm, chicken fried steak. Served with mashed potatoes, green beans, and fried okra. Biscuits with butter. A gallon of sweet tea.
Oh, lordy, it’s Heaven!
Unless, Michael is there.
I’m averting my eyes from the phrase “flop sweat” to keep from losing my lunch. Jeff, that’s plain hurtful…
I’m not sure exactly what flop sweat is. But I have a rough idea and I share Scott’s desire to puke my guts out.
Not to mention the moldy pizza slices that are probably still in there.
Thanks! You are on a roll! Keep it up….