Tires and testicles. Looks like double trouble to me. A man had to have come up with the truck nut craze. If I subscribed to Freudian psychology (which for the most part I don’t) I would say guys who have to put balls on their trucks feel their own packages to be inadequate. In my opinion it seems that guys who have to put balls on their trucks are more likely to keep their own balls in their wives’ purses.
How many women put coochie lips or boobs on their cars? ‘Nuff said.
Jerry is down at the campground all weekend to help Bob. I am grateful for the quiet and sanity especially after the incident with his truck. I hope they all question him about the drunk bump.
If Jerry’s going to drink beer and act like an ass, I prefer him to be down there rather than pestering the hell out of me. Upon leaving he mentioned taking bluegrass and country tapes. I am glad not to have to endure his musical tastes as mean as that might sound. He can get drunk to Willie Nelson all weekend, while I catch up on some much needed sleep and assorted recreational activities in peace.
I know Jerry feels bad because Bob has colon cancer and is facing surgery next week. The pisser is that Jerry getting drunk is no help for Bob’s situation. If Jerry wants to be a good friend perhaps staying sober and acting like an adult might be a better plan.
I should go to Cincinnati for my nephew’s birthday party Sunday but we shall see. I am pretty worn out and fried. It seems like it takes all my effort just to go to work and try to maintain.