Kirk Freeman
Grandmaster
You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney?
No, I'm going to hire out and hang out in the gun room with my Turnbull 1911 that Que owes me.
You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney?
No exit and it still took off? Or was it a ground level basement?
Son, we live in a world that has grass, and that grass has to be mowed by boys with mowers. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney? He has a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the window, and you curse the rock. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the boy's mowing, while tragic in this case, probably saved sod. And the rock's existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, needed to be removed from the grass. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want that grass mowed, you need that grass mowed.
When I lived in Rhode Island many years ago, we lived in a very small house on Narragansett Bay. Next door lived an old man who looked like a meth addict...but we didn't have meth addicts in those days. He just looked that way. He was a nice man. Owned a German Shepherd. Big dog. He said it was a Belgian Shepherd, but I'm not sure. He didn't like Germans very much and he may just have decided that the dog couldn't be German.
And that dog was unique in a number of ways. The attribute that pertains to this thread is that he collected things. Mostly Quahog shells, which were ubiquitous, considering we were on Narragansett Bay, and rocks. This dog considered rocks to be his greatest prize. He would search for rocks that had to be just the right size. Larger than a golf ball, but smaller than a baseball. He would prance around like a show pony with a rock in his mouth and you knew he was very proud of finding it.
He would hide the rocks in his favorite location: the deep grass of the front yard. The grass was deep because the owner always had better things to do and no one at that time lived in gated communities with covenants and you did what you pleased. So the Belgian(so he said) Shepherd would gather rocks for weeks, along with the occasional Quahog shell of just the right size, and set them to rest in the deep grass.
You can see where I'm going with this, right?
So, normally by the third of July, my neighbor would get his mower out for the first time that year with the intent to subdue his lawn prior to our normal 4th of July block party. After fits and starts, the old Briggs & Stratton would fire up and the air would be punctured by the smell of too rich exhaust, the crack of rocks against lawmower blades and housing, and a "*%#&*%%%$$ DOG!!!!" from the operator/owner.
There have been a lot of miles on me since that time. That dog is dead. And who knows, the owner could have really become a meth head eventually. But of all the things I've forgotten over the years, I can still remember the smile on that dog's face and the sound of that lawnmower hitting rocks in the deep grass. It's kind of a Thornton Wilder-type memory. You know?
So, maybe it's Karma. Or maybe there just happens to be a Belgian Shepherd in your neighborhood who hid a rock in your lawn after your son gave it a visual inspection. I don't know if that is true, but it is possible.
The defense rests.
No exit and it still took off? Or was it a ground level basement?
Nope, no exit. It was just not his day.
Or yours.
No, I'm going to hire out and hang out in the gun room with my Turnbull 1911 that Que owes me.
Son, we live in a world that has grass, and that grass has to be mowed by boys with mowers. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney? He has a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the window, and you curse the rock. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the boy's mowing, while tragic in this case, probably saved sod. And the rock's existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, needed to be removed from the grass. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want that grass mowed, you need that grass mowed.
Those things are too fancy for you. Besides, you are more of a revolver guy.
Son, we live in a world that has grass, and that grass has to be mowed by boys with mowers. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney? He has a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the window, and you curse the rock. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the boy's mowing, while tragic in this case, probably saved sod. And the rock's existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, needed to be removed from the grass. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want that grass mowed, you need that grass mowed.
Son, we live in a world that has grass, and that grass has to be mowed by boys with mowers. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Mr. Lafayette Attorney? He has a greater responsibility than you could possibly fathom. You weep for the window, and you curse the rock. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know. That the boy's mowing, while tragic in this case, probably saved sod. And the rock's existence, while grotesque and incomprehensible to you, needed to be removed from the grass. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want that grass mowed, you need that grass mowed.
No one to blame it on? Church mouse you're slipping. Just pretend you're a liberal and it's all good!!! Blame it on Anyone you want. Apply purple as needed!!!Nope........it was in his pack. He should not be throwing the pack down no matter what.
Now the rock...............I am on the fence. I hit a rock a few years ago and took the back window out of my Navigator. Ever buy one of those............No one I could blame that one on.