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August 29, 2007
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Heed the lesson of the writer of this article. Stay in school. Learn about sentence structure. Learn how not to bore people. Don't use monotonous sentences. Make things interesting. Or you will end up like Bobby - your butt hacked off, yet you keep coming back for more.
Posted by: Annie Where-but-here | August 29, 2007 at 01:09 PM
I know some people like this.
You try to get rid of them, but they keep coming back.
Posted by: Nookee | August 29, 2007 at 01:11 PM
Davie Crocket would have known what to do.
Posted by: The Dread Pirate Chris | August 29, 2007 at 01:11 PM
Is it just me, or did this article read like a Dr. Seuss book?
Posted by: AuntieM | August 29, 2007 at 01:11 PM
Annie, I agree.
But you forgot one important item.
Triple space.
Yes, really.
I think I'll stop writing now.
The End.
Posted by: Siouxie | August 29, 2007 at 01:13 PM
See Bobby run.
Chop Bobby's tail off.
See Bobby come back for more.
See Bobby run from Senator Craig.
Run, Bobby, run!
Posted by: Annie Where-but-here | August 29, 2007 at 01:16 PM
This would've been a funny looking coonskin hat, DPC. The tail was gone.
Posted by: Nookee | August 29, 2007 at 01:19 PM
We had a family of opussums living under our house. Every night we would trap another one and my husband would drop it off down by the creek on his way to work. Finally I told him to spray paint their butts so we could see if they were just coming back. They weren't...we trapped 11 of them in 2 weeks time.
We also trapped a skunk once. Man was he pissed off!
Posted by: Roller Gramma | August 29, 2007 at 01:29 PM
That made me laugh.
Posted by: Bethie | August 29, 2007 at 01:30 PM
when i (finally) left home, my parental units changed the locks on the doors and repainted the house, i still found it though...
Posted by: insomniac | August 29, 2007 at 01:34 PM
AuntieM - it's just you. Yet we feel the same way.
Posted by: Annie Where-but-here | August 29, 2007 at 01:38 PM
To add to insom's experience, when I (finally) left home, my p's moved. But they gave me their new address. Now, just like Bobby, I keep coming back. Parents are such suckers.
Posted by: random thunking | August 29, 2007 at 01:44 PM
BTW
Did anyone know about the foot tapping thing. I am worried I have been sending out mixed messages when my leg falls asleep on the john.
Posted by: Recovering 24 Addict | August 29, 2007 at 01:45 PM
I have long advocated a federal-witness-protection-style program for parents: When your child leaves for his or her senior year at college, you enter the program, and when the child attempts to return home, home, and you, are... gone.
Posted by: Dave | August 29, 2007 at 01:45 PM
oops wrong story
Posted by: Recovering 24 Addict | August 29, 2007 at 01:46 PM
Recovering - define 'john.'
Posted by: Annie Where-but-here | August 29, 2007 at 01:47 PM
Dave - where can I sign up for the Federal Parent Protection Program (FP³)?
Posted by: The Dread Pirate Chris | August 29, 2007 at 01:50 PM
Dave, can Cubans enter this program?? As you well know, it's not part of our culture to actually leave home.
Posted by: Siouxie | August 29, 2007 at 01:57 PM
Annie- Ok. As long as it's just me. And everyone. I think I'll spray paint my sister's butt to see if she keeps returning home.
Posted by: AuntieM | August 29, 2007 at 02:01 PM
My nephew is out tackling the world armed with a new Bachelors Degree in History. My sister isn't renting his room. Sad thing is he's turned down two amazing offers that could have set him up big time.
Posted by: fivver | August 29, 2007 at 02:20 PM
I tell ya, when I was a kid, my parents moved all the time... but I always found 'em.
I could tell my parents hated me. My bath toys were a toaster and a radio.
A girl phoned me the other day and said... Come on over, there's nobody home. I went over. Nobody was home.
Posted by: rodney dangerfield | August 29, 2007 at 02:21 PM
I was lost and asked a cop to help me find my parents and asked "do you think we'll find them", he said, "I don't know there's so many places to hide".
Posted by: rodney dangerfield | August 29, 2007 at 02:34 PM