There by the side of the wall stood a man playing the violin very badly, to put it mildly. As he began to adjust the strings before playing another piece of noise I dropped a dollar in his violin case and told him I found him quite interesting and shook his hand. He told me that his name was Melbourne Mordacious and he was the son of Franz Lehar. I had to chuckle to myself as I actually knew descendants of Lehar but did not mention it.
Me and my brother, even to this day, still think our names are 'God Damn It' and 'Jesus Christ'.
When we were kids, Pop and us would play 'Hot Potato!' with a live grenade.
I sure do miss my youngest brother Tim and my sister Caroline.
A woman's husband and father of many a rugRat had been slipping in and out of a coma for several months, yet she had stayed by his bedside every single day.
One day when he came to, he motioned for her to come nearer.
Upholding the journalistic standards of this blog, I engaged in a program of comprehensive research on this important subject. My research consisted of a visit to the local pub and a probe of the deepest recesses of my soul on the short walk home.