Ran into my friend the Old Curmudgeon the other day, occupying his regular bar stool at The Pub and looking even more peevish than usual.
Rashly, I inquired as to his well-being.
“Dog-tired”, he snarled. “Can’t sleep-in anymore. Guy who delivers my morning newspaper has a [expletive] hole in his [expletive] muffler.”
“How” he asked, “could they possibly have hired this clown? Probably ran an ad reading: WANTED--reliable go-getter to deliver newspapers in residential area early in morning; must have car with ear-splittingly defective muffler. Congenital sociopaths will receive preference.”
“Next thing you know, they’ll be advertising for agoraphobic mimes, squeamish vivisectionists, butterfingered wide-receivers, ingenuous politicians, and Lord knows what other [expletive] misfits this [expletive] society is producing nowadays!”
As he paused for breath, I hastily bade my adieux, slid off my stool and headed for the parking lot, where the surly attendant grudgingly brought around my car, hurling a string of colorful invectives after me as I drove away without tipping him.
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