... you've seen that guy who wears a bandana and rides his bike everywhere.
... you've started figuring out that guy's schedule based on where and when you see him.
... you've gotten concerned because you haven't seen that guy in a while.
I only suspend my commonsense to fall for the very best of hoaxes.
I have to wonder about his opinion of Fred MacMurray and His Three Sons.
"I just don't understand why a strapping man like that couldn't simply marry one of his friend's daughters. Who's even raising those boys? Bub?"
Say what you will. Rick Rolle has never given up on me. He's never let me down. And I'd be willing to bet that he's never going to run around and/or desert me.
Scott, if you've still got the unused portions of those White Oak, I've got two words for you: "locally sourced, locally produced, organic artisanal toothpicks (regular, mint, or root beer flavored)." Hit me up.
"But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Trader, but only the Joe." -Loeb 38:104
In fairness, that's pretty good typing for a cat.
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By Chris McCoy
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