1302 words of your self-described dreck to set up one joke, but, damn it, it was worth it!
I laughed so hard after you lulled me into a coma with those idiosyncratic ramblings of New England minutiae and what a tremendous cox man your buddy Hughes must have been.
I kept wondering, “where is this going?” “Has Gutbloom lost his mind?” And, “what the fuck are cod cheeks and what self-respecting restaurant would serve tartar sauce?”
I long for the day where the only jokes we make about Trump take place in a slightly different big house:
Trump goes to prison and in the cafeteria for his first meal, he hears someone yell out, “44!” Followed by laughter from the other prisoners.
He thought that was pretty odd, then he heard someone else yell out, “72!” Followed by even more laughter.
“What’s going on?” he asked the guy across the table.”
“Well, we’ve all heard every joke so many times, we’ve given them each a number to make it easier.”
Trump stands up on top of the table and yells out “up to 1.5 million!”
The place is as silent as a cemetery.
Confused, he looks at his table mate who is just shaking his head.
“Hey, what happened?”
“It’s all in the delivery.”