He is so over. Totally irrelevant, exhausted, flamed out. The sleepytime eyes and la-di-da hair and the tweet-tweet-tweet say it all. Real men don't tweet. Ask anybody. We bark, we protest, we thunder, condemn, denounce, we give 'em hell, sometimes we post. Wimps tweet. And now the perps are going to start walking and talking. And the fat lady is waiting in the wings.
1 comment:
Sorry, but who is Garrison Keillor?
Did he use to make butterscotch in Dundee? Or McKeillor-Watt sausages? We ought to know.
We who follow your blog need clarity on this.
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