After picking up Beantown and his lovely wife at the airport, which was, btw, a bit of a ghost town, we headed over to Broadway. Bob wanted to go to Ernest Tubbs Record Store. Once there, he made a beeline toward a barrel filled with guitar shaped flyswatters. He bought 33 of them.
I don’t know what to say after that…
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Yankees — they’re all nuts.
LOLOLOLOL!
Somebody has redneck written in the recesses of their Yankee heart.
Ahem. You might not want to come over to my place, Mack. Not to say why or anything. And probably I shouldn’t show you my gardening hat, either.
Yes, Ginger, and soon he will see the error of his yankee ways…
Mack:
But he had to come to Nashville to buy them. Good thing you didn’t take him to the Larry Flynt store–I can only imagine what the flyswatters there look like.
Democommie, they look pretty much the same, except the handle is a little thicker and rounder at the end, and when you hear a buzz, you don’t know if it’s an insect or if you’ve just accidently hit the on-switch on your “flyswatter.”
And when Aunt B walks through the door, it’s like Norm entering Cheers.
Aunt B:
It’s my ADD, I’m sure, but that comment of yours put a picture in my head of THAT Robert Mapplethorp photo that was a personal favorite of Jesse Helms–but with the fly swatter instead of the bullwhip.