You’re lying! How in the hell do you wind a Speedmaster when the rats have gnawed off your fingertips?
I own the devil's Speedmaster, an automatic! It keeps the lonely time, as the ticks slowly get louder as my time in the maelstrom of this thread binds me to my inevitable conclusion....an unhumorous post, the heretical ending I fear most. Cue the funeral dirge.... Oh, and Merry Christmas!
A husband asks his wife what she’d like for her 40th birthday. She says, “I’d like to be 6 again.” The next day, bright and early, the husband gets her up, and takes her to a local theme park. He puts her on every ride, and a few hours later, she stumbles out with a headache and a queasy stomach. Then, he takes her to McDonalds for a Happy Meal with extra fries, and a chocolate shake. After, she waddles out and he brings her to the newest Disney movie. When they get home, she collapsed into bed after taking a couple of aspirin. Her husband asks her lovingly, “So, how was it being 6 again?” She said, “You idiot; I was referring to my dress size…”
A pair of jumper cables walks into a bar. The red one goes up to the bar, orders a gin and tonic. The bartender leans over them: "All right, I'll serve you, just as long as you don't start anything in here!"
I'm a pedant (just wait until you post something about watches!), so if only the red one went up to the bar, how could the bartender have leaned over to "them"?
