Bluntness

I've also been told I have little tact, so if this offends you simply ride on.
Showing posts with label Halftime show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Halftime show. Show all posts

Monday, February 3, 2020

Night of the Latinas

Okay, so I missed that silly little football game last evening. When I checked my phone this morning there were lots and lots of little notifications telling me who won.  Yippee.  There was a time when I felt the need to scan through the commercials the next day; not any more.  I did, however, watch the half-time show.  Holy Crap!  Talk about high octane entertainment.  Talk about a finger in the eye of every MAGA head out there.  This is exactly what the Idiot Jerk in the White was supposed to keep from happening.  I'll bet many of their shitty, little hats are still spinning somewhere up in the stratosphere.  If you didn't see it, take a look:


Anyway, today is another day off for me.  My third!  And the temps are supposed to hit 61 (F).  We always get a winter thaw in February, however this has been a rather warm winter so far.  I have to keep reminding myself we're only 1/3 of the way through.  Nature can still give us snowy smackdown in the next 2 months.
And, as I always do when I'm finishing up a book, I tease with bits and pieces.  Here's a bit from the Chapter called "The Posse."


Choosing to sigh rather than say anything, I patiently waited while Bill arranged our horses on either side of Sunny’s.  I knew what this was.  Picture time.  They must do this for all of the tourists.  While I had no objection, I have to admit I was feeling a little embarrassed.  We were here to help solve a murder.
As he was framing us up, Bill paused.  For a second I thought I saw a frown pass across his face, a moment of shadow.  “Don’t think I ever saw that before.  In all my days,” he shook his head,” never.  You look like an honest to God posse.” He looked down at the ground for a second.  This was the first time I’d ever seen this kind of reaction.  Intense.  Honest. This is what pain looks like, I thought.  Framing us up again, he took a picture of us sitting there on our horses.  “This ain’t no Dan Bailey you’re goin’ lookin’ for, he’s long dead.  But you help Sunny, you hear?  You help her find who killed our Dottie Ruth.”