Nephew is in town from Chicago for a business meeting that happened yesterday in Mankato. The client was wined and dined at an elegant truck stop diner. Today we have a Target Field tour on tap and a brief lesson in riding a fixed gear bicycle. He's taking the Parade Bike home with him and the X Files bike (lime green 1x1) for his brother. Well, that blows the shit out of your plans to offer Mrs 100 bucks for either of them following my death at the hands of a drug cartel.
Flannery Automotive calls every so often with a new estimate on the car. So far we're up to like 8 hundo after fixing the gas filler tube which only leaked when you filled the tank all the way. New fan motor, oil change, new battery, new plug wires...you get the picture.
Hot dog for breakfast on a stale-Debbie-hot-dog-bun and some soggy chips. That's right, I know how to live.
I want a gun (not really). I want to carry it when I ride my bike and shoot at cars. I want to shoot it up in the air and at cans and mailboxes and other assorted items (You'll shoot yer eye out). I want it because I want it (But not as much as a Tampa Bay Rays jersey). I could give 2 shits that the Constitution (my father landed at Utah Beach on D Day) gives me the 'Right To Bear Arms'. Stop quoting a document written by old white guys who knew you needed a piece because you lived in the f-ing wilderness and that you never knew when the British were coming and you would need to bust a cap in some fool's ass.