Ingravy Train
A bird in the hand is worth flipping at Bush.
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I need someone to assure me that broth does not come from brothels.
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Vehicles made from gravy: train, boat. No aircraft?
If God intended gravy to fly He would not have put pie in the sky. A gravy jet is not something you would want to be around in your good clothes either.
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Who wants to go on a junket? Who thought up that name? Is that reverse psychology or marketing department melt down?
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I told Jack Frost look, you nip at my nose one more time and it’s gonna come to blows pal. It’s cold out here and I am in no mood.
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She said there is no excuse for that. I said there’s no excuse for there not being an excuse for everything. I blame poverty of the imagination. She said that’s just an excuse. I said excuse me?
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If I had a nickle for every time I said if I had a nickle for every time I said that, I’d stand there and say that all day.
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Shouldn’t ingraved mean buried? As in, “Uncle Walt died. We’re having him ingraved on Monday.”
Filed under: Catatonia | 1 Comment
uhm… okay.