Yeah, right. I came out of the hotel, met my buddies at the check out counter, and there was my Virgo bud, jeans. Boots, baseball hat, fine, yoke-cut tweed jacket, and on his lapel, there was a gaudy little rhinestone angel.
He pointed at the angel:
“I am not happy about this.”
That Pisces replied, in “You going to work for me, you wear an angel. Now get in the truck.”
About the author:
Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.
Use of this site (you are here) is covered by all the terms as defined in the fineprint, reply via e-mail.
