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This entry was posted on Friday, October 7th, 2022 at 12:38 pm and is filed under animal crackers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
This entry was posted on Friday, October 7th, 2022 at 12:38 pm and is filed under animal crackers. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.
People who enjoy meetings should not be in charge of anything.
—Thomas Sowell
Only in math problems can you buy forty cantaloupes and no one asks what the heck is wrong with you.
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
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)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
Thanks for the fun fishy tales, BoB. My husband calls himself a fly fisherman. I think that means that when he goes fishing, the fish fly away. In our 18+ years of marriage, he has brought home only one fish. My husband was soaking wet when he got home that day. Said he fell into the Rio Grande in the process of catching that fish.
And then, he didn’t have the heart to kill it. After proudly showing me his fish and posing for a picture, he put the fish back into a bucket of water, drove down to the river, and released the fish. ❤
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Reblogged this on wordrefiner.
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Thank you for reblogging. 🙂
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Cute and true.
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I love the last one!
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Funny!
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