Me (on my soapbox): Until you all learn to respect each other and get along, we're never going to get anywhere. And if you don't learn the lesson now, we'll lose even more ground and that's your business, but every time you guys lose ground, you drag me along with you. And I'm tired of...
Heir 1 (patting me on the shoulder): Don't worry, Mom. I'll share my box with you when I'm living in one.
Me: Thanks a lot.
Heir 1: In fact, if I make enough money to move out of the box, I'll let you have the my box for free.
Me: Thanks.
Heir 1: In fact, I'll even put the box in my garage.
Me: And I can hang out on street corners with my filthy little terrier and sell sausages.
Heir 1 (smiling lovingly): Foul Ol' Mom.
3 comments:
CMOT Linguini.
I know -- we're mixing characters.
But, seriously -- wouldn't it have been great if Salt were Gaspode instead of Gaspode? Can't you just hear that dialog coming out of Salt?
I always think of Salt when I am reading about Gaspode now.
Salt! Call Trasherati!
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