My last couple of trips back to Alabama have been pretty uneventful. I haven’t had anyone corner me in the dairy aisle and confide in me that our president is a Communist, I haven’t seen any hookers at WalMart, and my grandmother seems to have lost interest in carrying firearms while using her walker. I did, however, encounter this with my good friend Lindy when she came to visit in April:
I guess by “hoopty” they don’t mean “Honda”. Well, that’s a bummer. I’ll just go park somewhere else, then.
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