Well, since I picked on my youngest brother here after he drank fly juice, I suppose it's only fair to share some love with my eldest brother as well. So, allow me to share with you the story of the Space Shuttle and its legal sale in the state of Missouri:
It's Wednesday night and the casino down the street from the farm is having crab-legs on the buffet. Since my daddy has never met a crustacean he doesn't like and since Aaron and I were wanting to see the casino, we decided to go for dinner. On the way there I was sitting up front chatting with dad while my poor husband suffered in the back seat with my brothers. As daddy and I were discussing plans for the 4th we hear my brother pipe up from the back: "Oh yeah! Hey dad! What happened with all those fireworks we bought?"
My dad simply answered with "Check your pronoun, 'bro'. I don't think *we* bought any!"
My genius brother missed the point that he should have used "you" in place of "we" and continued to argue that yes, they really had all bought fireworks. In an effort to further clarify this point, I asked him, "'Brother'? Which of all these fireworks did you personally buy?"
His answer, "You know, the ones that make loud noise, go up in the air, then explode!" I deadpanned back, "Oh? You mean the space shuttle?" Continuing in his pattern of missing the point, he answered, "Yeah, that one! That's the one I bought!"
It took him until half-way through dinner to figure out why we were all laughing. The worst part? Four hours driving through the state of Missouri on the way home and I forgot to stop off at a fireworks stand to purchase a shuttle all my own.
Some thoughts on the GOP tax gut inspired by my sister's Legendary Nickel and Dime Hustle of 1982.... - Years ago, my sister C-Money taught me an extremely painful lesson. We were excited about a visit to the candy shop, and started going over how much we cou...
2 months ago