everyone's talking about the big game in four weeks. I thought we had a big one tomorrow, the next one. Glad you guys aren't coaches! And glad our coaches are getting our players for the only thing that matters right now - the Florist
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.