(ed note: BALLERS go out every Sunday and get drunk at brunch, so this should have been posted yesterday. Blame the fucking mimosas, its not my fault, people).
Day three of the ongoing Xmas revels.
Having finished the nuclear option (day one), we began another breeder mainstay: the grandparents tour of duty.
Think Groundhog Day (or in this case, Christmas morning), repeated daily for many days, punctuated by disappointment and tears, calls for quiet contests, and copious carsickness. Living the life.
Just so you can share in the joy, I’ve now listened to John Denver’s timeless classic 40 fucking times today--and we're only halfway through.
So, I repeat: I’m doing your heavy lifting, BALLERS. All for you, man (and for the continuation of the species).
So, don’t give me and my triple-wide bugaboo shit next time I mow you down on 7th.