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Monday, June 23, 2014

Don't Mess with Me, For I am a Bad-Ass

Don't mess with me, for I am a bad-ass.  Actually, a bad-ass probably would say, Don't mess with me because I'm a bad-ass, or better still, Don't mess with me; I'm a bad-ass, or even just, Don't mess with me.

Know why?

That's right.  I'm a bad-ass.

The other day, we were at a restaurant, and Nancy said, "Good Lord, what have you done to your napkin?  Look at your napkin, and look at my napkin."  I did.  Nancy's napkin still looked like a napkin.  Mine looked like it had been thrown into some sort of napkin-shredding-and-mutilating device.  That's what a bad-ass I am.  It's my little way of saying to the world, if you mess with me, I will mess you up, just like this napkin.

Then, later, that same day we were at another restaurant, and I was with Nancy and Spencer, and Spencer said, "Dad, what have you done to you napkin?"  We compared napkins, again, Nancy's and Spencer's still looked like napkins.  Mine looked like a napkin, too.  A napkin someone gave to a bad-ass.  I don't even care - one napkin or twenty-one, keep the napkins coming, is my motto, I'll ruin them all.  That's how you roll when you're a bad-ass like me.

And don't even get me started on rolls.  Nancy will eat her roll one bite at a time.  Not me.  I take my roll and tear it to pieces, just like it was a napkin.  My roll looks like some bad-ass stuck a tiny stick of dynamite in it and lit the fuse.  At the end of the meal, I've got crumbs not only on and around my plate and on the floor, but on the very seat I'd been sitting.  How it's possible to get crumbs under your butt even I don't know.  That's just how much of a bad-ass I am.

So don't mess with me.

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