Hey, wait! You’re condemning me for sneaking three measly cigs when I was twelve years old, and talking about making notations in the dossier you’re keeping on me? You were a strung-out, chain-smoking, stained fingers, ashtrays in every room, ash-dangling, loss of sense of taste, coughing and hacking hardcore nicotine addict as an adult, at least twice! Foul, I say, FOUL! Where’s my ink pen? Grrrrrrrrrr.
(You knew when you posted this that I wouldn’t just let it go. Grrrrrrr.)
~
“Pure”? Me? I have my faults and defects! You’re not the only one with ghosts!
~
None of the skeletons/ghosts in my closet are of the alcohol or pharmaceutical variety, they’re more “woman-related”. (Cough, cough.)
~
You’re not wearing a wore wire are you? I know you were seen near police headquarters and the district attorney’s office, so how do I know you didn’t plea bargain your way out of your own charges by offering to give me up instead? Sorry, I’m not falling for it this time, Sister. Go peddle your papers somewhere else. Grrrrrrr.
~
This post was edited by Randy D at January 29, 2021 9:13 PM MST