I'm not one of those folks who went out of their way to eat themselves some Chick-fil-a today. I'm not one of those folks boycotting chicken sandwiches either. There isn't a Chick-fil-a where I live and since I've never eaten at one of their establishments, I didn't find it compelling to seek one out and end that lucky streak in any way.
Instead, my husband and I took one of his former students to lunch at one of our fine casinos. Food was probably better. Anyhow, this kid is busy living the dream, singing his way across the state, and it shows:
What's more adorable was our family unfriendly conversation while we ate mounds of pork and beef products.
I mean, not having the cause du-jour in a location convenient to us, why not do our part in the next best location? Talk of bodily fluids and premarital sexual positions over bacon-pastrami-swiss burgers punctuated by the sparkling sounds of slot machines?
As we left the casino a methy looking patron criss-crossing the parking lot asked if we'd like to purchase her beautiful ladies ring. We declined knowing that security would find her before long.
She wouldn't pay taxes on the sale and I can't be supporting that.
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