Since there was no more vodka, he decided to start mixing his metaphors with cranberry juice, which immediately took the wind from beneath his duck’s back.
I wish I had some witty reply, but after three vodka metaphors for breakfast this morning, my mind is as useless as a one-legged man on a hot tin roof.
see, now, sir, i just knew that was you. i read scrines in a reader that just reports scrine, not which scriner, and i get to guess as i’m clicking over to see and i just knew this one hadda be you, it’s just too nuts to be anybody else. bravo!
I’ll take a few Bailey’s on the rocks, because all’s well that ends alcoholically.
Vodka and ducks. It just doesn’t sound like a story that will have a happy ending.