July 17, 2007
Warning:Politically incorrect humor ahead. If you don’t like it, change the channel.
Actual conversation at Webb’s in Washburn on Saturday afternoon:
“He came home all drunk, got out of the truck, and his leg fell off.”
“What, like he had a fake leg?”
“Nono, his real leg. It was all rotted and smelly, and it just fell off. His wife had to pick it up and put it in the trunk of the car so she could drive him to the hospital.”
“Fuck that. After I stopped gagging, I’d just call a damn ambulance. I don’t know anyone that loves someone enough to pick up their gangrenous leg that has just fallen off in the driveway.”
“Sure would make driving a stick shift tricky.”
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July 17th, 2007 at 8:51 pm
No…seriously. I don’t care about the leg. You went to Webb’s in Washburn without me? We will battle my friend.
July 18th, 2007 at 7:10 am
It’s nothing like the nasty Webb’s by Unk’s old place. I went up there with Wendy, Kris, Bill, Bunker, and my Mom. Plus, you were in the Great White North eating maple syrup or fly fishing or climbing rocks or whatever it is people do up there.