A red-letter day at the Blessed Reformer Retirement Home yesterday: the trouble-and-strife's birthday. Happy Nativity, Blanche! Was that a blowout or what? My hangover is just now beginning to subside.I want to know what the hell we're going to do with the 85 Afghans that folks sent in for the Old Broad's century. 85 frigging Afghans! Hell, I can't even find a decent use for a dozen Pakis - other than to chase the Mexicans off the lawn.
But what the hell, we'll find something for the Afghans to do. At very least, they can keep both me and my .45 loaded. There's nothing that scares the crap out of the staff around here more than a drunken old chaplain with a weapon - except maybe for a drunken old chaplain with a weapon AND a militia of 85 armed Afghanis. I know the Russians are thinking the same thing as Custer surrounded by thousands of wigwams - and I don't mean "Oh goody, tax free smokes!" either.
85 Afghans? I'm still stunned. Or drunk. I don't know which. Anyway, old gal, I hope you had a helluva birthday. When I make my hundred, don't send Afghans, though. I want an army of Orientals. They can cook, do Kung Fu, and give me a massage - not to mention a damn fine job with the laundry.
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