Because everybody who's anybody knows if you're gonna play in Texas, you gotta have a fiddle in the band.
But why would anyone want to eat buffalo? Or diss Mrs. Butterworths? What are you, un-American?!
And just so you know...
We'd make you embrace Hockey Hair. All business in the front. All party in the back. Except for ZZUB. For obvious reasons.
...some of us have already embraced it. Unfortunately. Only it's spelled M-U-L-L-E-T where I come from.
And M-U-L-L-L-E-T where ZZUB comes from. I'm DED, by the way. Over that little... sweetheart. Cue Z with the whole "bald
ing, not bald" thing....
Don't you just know the lady on the left side of that shot is going "It's the blonde again with that stinkin' camera! The entire meal,
the entire meal, she's taking pictures. They'll let anybody in here. Let's ditch this place next year and try the Plaza. I hear they've got a great menu."
A giant wedge of sweet, creamy spreadable love: BUTTER.
Oh baby.
And that's all I care to say about that.
Plus a big piece of crispy bread to transport more butter to Me(l).
No... I never want a light beer. Light beer is for children.
I don't know why these three things made me laugh as hard as they did. They really shouldn't have. But they did. What does that say about me? At any rate, the mussels look gross. And you're such a man for ordering mussels when you could've had the salmon with vegetable barley or something along those lines, Mel. Remind me to NEVER eat at Artist Point. But then again, that soup is making my mouth water. Dadgum, it looks good!
Melly, I loved these last two chapters. You are on fire, woman. I laughed so hard and so long my face froze that way. I don't know how I'm going to explain the sitchashun at work. I LOVED the shower convo. That was FOFF, Mel. And I'm thinking lots of moms can relate to that one.
Keep it comin, chick. You're on a roll. With butter. Lots and lots of butter.
Is that how it goes, Frick?
OH! Almost forgot.
Chapter11 said:
Who knows? It's not a real country anyway. Besides, I think Mel really lives in a trailer park outside of Poughkeepsie, along with 37 cats. All of whom are now named Zzub.
I am eighteen different kinds of DED after that. Call 911. Call Joe, Larry and Curly.
But I only have one question: who the heck is Chapter 11?!