The Jack Smith Fan Club teeshirt I ordered for my husband's birthday didn't come on that day, nor on the day of the surprise indictment, but the day after. Bryant's more of a homebody than I am, so Lilith and I decided to take our walk with me in the shirt this morning. First, we ran into Kevin down the street, walking his cousin's tiny chihuahua, Vanelope, who hardly ever barks. Now Kevin is one of the smartest, most perceptive people I almost know; he was wearing an Ice Cube teeshirt. As for Jack Smith, he was ignoring the news, didn't ring a bell. We got to the cemetery, where I told Uncle John that he needed a very big umbrella these days because it's raining indictments. Oh yes, he said, and then started talking about Obama's chef drowning, Hillary and Burisma. Said Jack Smith is an idiot. "Nothing touches that guy," he said of Mr. Three Indictment Donald. "When I see him in handcuffs, then I'll think something happened."
On our way back down the hill, we saw John again, and his co-worker, the one with Bubba, dog with one hahd head lidat. "Lilith Walks!" We were talking dogs when we noticed Daniel coming toward us in his emergency lime green vest, Daniel who worked on Air Force One under Reagan and became a successful educator on the Big Island. "Jack Smith. He's going after that knuckle head," said Daniel as he marched by. He added something I didn't understand. Bubba's person said the missing word was "pterodactyl."
No comments:
Post a Comment