Y'know, an uncommon number of my friends' mothers in high school said much the
same thing to their sons. I never could figure out if it was the beer drinking
or the driving too fast. I mean, I was a starter on the football team, I didn't
do drugs and my father made me get a haircut every Saturday morning whether I
wanted to or not. Hell, whether I needed one or not. Not to mention I wore HIS
slacks, Madras shirts and Bass Wejuns without socks.
But I really thought it was too much when one friend--of all people my doctor's
son--told me his mother didn't want him hanging around me anymore because I
sniffed glue. I was flabbergasted! Swill beer by the pint bottle? Sure.
Occasionally share a few (okay, more than a few) wee drams of some rotgut
whiskEy? Of course. But I drew the line at sniffing glue. Would not have been
prudent. Would have been unAmerican. I didn't even enjoy my first toke of wacky
weed until a couple of buddies and me spent our last night in the country in
San Francisco before leaving for Vietnam. That trip across the Golden Gate in a
friend's VW was nothing short of freaking cosmic.
Harumph!
I'll leave an occasional post to let you know what you're missing.
--BadBoyBob
On Apr 16, 2013, at 10:29 AM, NSURIT@xxxxxxx wrote:
> In a message dated 4/16/2013 5:56:17 A.M. Central Daylight Time,
> bwhitmire@xxxxxxxxxxxxxx writes:
>
> I just ran up the price for no apparent good reason, what with not owning
> any OMs, or Canyons. Just the devil in me, I guess. <g>
>
> --Bob
>
> You are a bad influence. I'm no longer allowed to play with you. <{B^)
> Bill Barber
--
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