“Hey Rosco, let’s make some moves here buddy”
Prince Sour Puss snarls and calls him a “Nigger” under his breath.
I didn’t say anything. I just smiled.
(No Vulgarity in Norwegian Bars)
Daggers for the Prince.
“Yea, I’d go, but I hate Ceasar.”
“I don’t put up with any bullshit.”
Wheel in hand consults the iProphet in the other every other second.
“Yea, I’ve driven through this, just a bunch of fuckin’ cornfields. God I hate Iowa.”
We’re veering off road, onto rumble strips, dirt roads, low water passings, dust flying
we must have taken off in a hurry.
Do you want the keys?
“No, you asked for them.”
What da fuck?! You’re boxing me in here pal!
“Get housekeeping in here to change my bed sheets every night.”
He’s lost and gone snobbing for adam’s apples.
Hey, Grind away.
Prince Sour Puss.
“I hate kids, they’re chatty and rude. I don’t care how old they are.”
Let’s think about that for a moment.