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We are in the car, heading to lunch in downtown Portland. We can see the restaurant . . . well, we can’t see it constantly, because we keep driving the fuck past it. There it is again. There it is again. There it is again. Oh my fucking god. We need a parking space.
OK, yesterday I posted about Mark’s dad eating a 2/3 pound hamburger, and all day long I had to listen to defensive explanations from my father-in-law about how he had only ordered the larger hamburger for financial reasons (yeah, right). How he didn’t finish it (he so did). And how he had loved and …Donkey Balls |
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