My cousin, whom I barely know, has turned out to be an even bigger, and more hostile, dolt than I already knew. His sister is/was hot, but I knew that she was a bitch before I knew the word, and his big brother, the asshole fighter jock, stole my first name when he had a perfectly good, and distinctive (there’s only so many with our surname) of his own. But I had hopes for the kid, despite his chin implant (some of us have proper, masculine chins with a manly cleft; he bought his). But no, doltish through and through.
My former supervisor, well, he and I rarely agreed. “I’m a Vietnam-era veteran, entitled to all that I have coming.”
“You were a draftsman in Wiesbaden.”
“I coulda been sent to Vietnam at any time.”
“To be a draftsman at Ton Son Nhut Air Base?”
“I coulda gotten killed there.”
“At some whorehouse in Saigon, maybe.”
Anyway, he died recently, but on Facebook some lady friends sent his widow (Allison Janney-ish, but she never liked me) messages that, in his honor, they hadn’t voted for That Woman. Is it wrong to unfriend a dead guy you never liked? Anyway, I restrained myself from posting, “I voted for her, but he would’ve expected that,” because it’s too soon, I’m Minnesota Nice, and she already hates me.
I’ve told of a friend who gained custody of me in a bitter divorce. Okay, at 17 through 40 she looked like Julia Roberts’ much prettier sister with Bernadette Peters’ body. A dolt, but I’m willing to make allowances. Twelve years later she’s put on a few; normally nothing like a deal-breaker, but did I mentiom “doltish?” Solid Libertarian, though I ennumerated Johnson’s flaws.
In her case, I look forward to Nov 9.
