Only the trained eye of a journalist, or average five-year-old, could recognize this is a freshly painted street. It’s what we do.
A reluctant glance.
A quickly hidden document.
A misspoken word.
This morning as I entered the office parking lot, my investigative journalism instincts led me to suspected the city had secretly re-striped the street behind our office. How do I know this? It’s just something you feel in your gut. I can’t explain how or why. I just know I trust it. Unless it’s lunch time…
I just realized I need to change my underwear.
Better you than me.
I recommend rotating. Decreases wear.
We’re friends, but I’m not exchanging underwear with you.
Oh c’mon. Let’s Cher.
OK, but I’m Sonny. Wait… the one before skiing into a tree.
I would be Chastity but I’m not manly enough, nor do I possess enough flannel.
Don’t sell yourself short. You can always get more flannel.
I wonder if she has flannel sheets and pillow cases?
Those are things I’d rather not think about. Anymore.
Winner! I’m not even going to try now…
The bar has been raised. Gopherit.
I hope it wasn’t the color that caused that realization.
Once again Ned, your instincts are spot on!! I know really believe in that “go with your gut” thing, unless you’ve eaten bad Mexican. š
Hahaha! Yeah, a meal at the Enfermo Taco can really wreak havvoc with my gut instincts š
Oops. . .I made a typo. . .it was supposed to be “now” instead of “know”. How embarrassing!!
I knew what you meant. No worries š