Monday, April 09, 2007
Cutty Sark Snores
Every night when my dad came home from work, he'd pour himself a scotch on the rocks -- either JB or Cutty Sark were his drugs of choice. By the 11 p.m. news, he'd had so many that he passed out on the couch, snoring the drunk snore. Whenever I had to listen to this snore, I imagined slabs of meat hanging in a meat locker.
Posted by Christa M. Forster at 5:48 PM
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