Yesterday we delivered the Toy Chest for grandson, Will's, first birthday.
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Most everyone was complimentary, but Katelyn's dog, Jack Dog, gave it a critical eye.
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What the hell do you know about woodworking Jackie??? You're just a dog.

I sensitizes a conflagration in you, Boomerdog. You live in Yacht Town, which is a high falootin' boat, with lots of loafer wearin' "pinkie in the air drinkin' from a clean glass" types, but you does some equatin' to the ole boat yard, striking imagerie of steel riveted bath tubs, stinkin' of petrol, crawfish and the crabs from Trudie McCann panties. Don't quite match up, yer white short wearing yacht set and the scurvy curs that slinks around the boat yard. I measure this as a conflagration insides, street savvy operator, laysing in wait to rob some rube down by the boatyard, and sophistication mastery feller from a town with yachts in it.

"Where all the white women at?" Just follow the Barack.
Like bee to the honey. Its a matter of nature. Lock up yer women folk and keep yer powder dry. Corperal Tuna Lips showin' up fer duty.
I sees the heat has rolled up to yer neck of the nape. Plenty hot here in God's countree.
I was in Atlanta, or as they call it, Hotlanta, this past weekend. One thing the mercury risin' brings on is some perspratin'. Now that ain't all bad. I seen more boobies, glistening like snow in the lane. All shapes and sizes, flavors, all suitable for lickin' like a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Or whatever choice you might find in yer side of the town.