Thank Grog It’s Firday!
OK…I know a bunch of you think that I am just going to string this along again, because I can. But, I won’t, even though I could. But, you have all been very patient with my retelling of this tale. Much more patient than “Bob” was, when it came to flinging his displeasure about my constant haranguing of him, for what you are about to read.
And you will read it…if you do. Read it, that is. So many of you seem to be “reading challenged.” You want your “facts” in 144 character tweets or less. The real world doesn’t work that way. Unless you are in politics…but, I digress.
Let’s recap. “Bob” isn’t his real name. But we captured “Bob” at Greta’s (not her real name) apartment in San Francisco, with the help of Ali (my daughter) and Ryan (a very large, attractive former college rugby player). And trust me…beans were spilled!
And no…I’m not still talking about the Falafel that he was delivering with his “side hustle,” Door Dash. I’m talking like an old 1940s movie “copper” who tells the “con” that the “jig is up…so he might as well spill the beans.” I have no idea why there was dancing and beans in those movies…but the aphorism stuck.
Just like the beans.
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