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This entry was posted on Monday, December 13th, 2021 at 6:42 am and is filed under circus of life. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
Monday chuckles
bluebird of bitterness
The opinions expressed are those of the author. You go get your own opinions.
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Home sweet home
Bob's sister Hannah
Bob's sister Ada
Bob's brother Otto
Bob's sister Eve
Bob's sister Nan
A baby picture of Bob and his siblings (clockwise from upper left: Otto, Eve, Hannah, Ada, Bob, and Nan)
Bob's childhood home
Bob's mom and dad
Bob in his youth
Bob's cousin Alphonse
Bob's Uncle Ralph and Aunt Edna
Bob's cousin Archibald
Bob's stepbrother Herbie (who really needs to quit smoking)
Bob's cousin Chester
Bob's Great Uncle Norbert and Great Aunt Phyllis
Bob's cousin Saffron (who will do anything for a drink)
Bob's cousin Thorndike
Bob's brother-in-law Vinnie
Bob's cousin Orville, who loves the Green Bay Packers
Bob's nieces Lulu and Bitsy, the biker chicks
Bob's stepsister Eloise, with the twins, Rudy and Trudy
Bob's Uncle Henry and Aunt Rowena
Bob's niece Esmerelda (who likes to live dangerously)
Bob's Great Uncle Arthur up in Saskatchewan
Bob's cousin Louie, the grackle of grumpiness
Miss Screech, Bob's journalism teacher
Bob's nephew Winthrop, who loves sports
Bob's Uncle Seymour and Aunt Bernice
Bob's second cousin Schlomo in Brooklyn
Bob's nephew Baxter
Bob's cousin Darrell
Nigel, Bob's pen pal in New Zealand
Bob's sister-in-law Delphine, who volunteers at the animal shelter
Percy the Pickpocket, Bob's third cousin once removed (the relative no one likes to talk about... every family has one)
The Bluebird of Happiness™ (no relation to Bob)
A pair of boobies (also no relation to Bob, but included for readers who desire titillation)
A pair of tits (in case the boobies were insufficiently titillating)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
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bluebird of bitterness 
Ours always got on great with the kids. So good, in fact, that if you dared raise your voice to one of the kids, you got growled at by the dachshund. That meant you had to say to the kid, “Who peed on the floor? who was bad?” The dachshund would then creep away and you could get down to business with the brat–who ate all the cookies/pie/cake, snuck in the house after midnight, did not pick up their dirty towels/clothes from the bathroom floor. An they wonder why I have gray hair. I raised dachshunds!
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Tim Hawkins is so very funny! I especially liked his Sounds of Starbucks.
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