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Hey Count, what do you think?
ReplyDeleteMaybe I am the future of the GOP!
Drunken Gardener:
ReplyDeleteSeriously, how did I not get the role of the Count?
The Count: Look, there's no way I can send these flowers to my mother for Mother's Day.
ReplyDeleteGardener: I'll start to whistle and you can join in when you remember the lyrics.
ReplyDeleteGardener: It's going to take a higher bribe than that to convince me not to tell the Countess what you've been doing with Susanna in the garden.
ReplyDeleteThe Count: I'd choke this low-life pig to death if I could do it without ending up with his drool all over my coat.
If I hold my hands like this, wrap
ReplyDeletethem around my neck and squeeze, maybe he'll shut up! no, no, then
only I would shut up....damnit Jim,
we need more power!
And my vocal range was this big ...
ReplyDeleteGardener: Yep the wind is from the SSW - that means another month of rain in Seattle.
ReplyDeleteCount: Argh ... Speight promised me sunshine!
"Now that's thinkin' with your dipstick, Jimmy!"
ReplyDeleteCiscoe Morris has got nothing on me!
ReplyDeleteGardener: Only God knows how little power we really have over women.
ReplyDeleteCount: I'll ring that Mozart's neck for making me kneel in the end.
Gardener: My, that flower pot sure is chewy!
ReplyDeleteTypical exaggeration! We both know it's only this big!
ReplyDeleteI knows what I saw, *hick up* and It was raining men
ReplyDeleteGardener: What do you mean, "I am a PotHead?"
ReplyDelete"There was a hole the same size in the first pot, too. Notify the CDC immediately! This might be the beginning of a pothole pandemic."
ReplyDeleteI know! We'll pretend the cat broke it. She would never kick it, whereas...
ReplyDelete