It’s like the little boy in the playground who pulls the cute girl’s ponytail cuz he doesn’t know how else to express his feelings for her. The above statement you made gave it all away.
Seems like you have a wee bit too much time on your hands, Chief. Or would that be…Oops! Sorry. I won’t go there. <insert smilie with tongue sticking out here>
Actually, I’d say #5. All of the above.
Need any more hugs? I’ve got plenty more, and they’re free!
I vaccilate between straight and bent. You know that.
Wrong. I have a black belt in marital arts.
All my entendres are intentional. Even the ones that are not.
There’s nothing wrong with my bike. Okay, there’s something wrong a little bit. But I’m working on it, and when it purrs like a kitten, don’t ask me for a ride.
Because, like Everest, Wally’s there and too tempting to ignore.
Because you two are Martin and Lewis, Abbott and Costello, the Lone Ranger and Tonto, bubble and squeak, The Smothers Brothers, ham and eggs, baseball and cold beer, chips and dip, Orville and Wilbur, Butch and Sundance, oil and vinegar…
Oh, hell, the two of you in interaction are here to amuse the rest of us. Which you do in stellar fashion.
Carry on, gentlemen.
(A pointless instruction if there ever was one.)
Well, I’d say it’s the name. When his parents named him Wally it was rather like putting a “Kick Me” sign on his back. Sadistic bastards. No wonder he had to learn karate.
Wally’s Canadian?
Why am I always the last to know?
Next you’ll be telling me Amy is his daughter.
She IS?
And I suppose he’s not secretly in love with me either.
Damn.