The rarely seen Marlboro Man® when he was a girl.
It was 1974. The Marlboro Man® knew only two things. He had lung cancer and he was going to die alone. He only cared about the latter. He coughed up a gob of black mucous, presumably with pieces of his lungs, into his hand. He looked at it curiously before casually wiping it on the back pocket of his jeans.
Apparently, there is no such thing as a good tenor joke.
It was only appropriate that a man named Tenor Vibrato was a singer. To be clear, this was his stage name, his real name was Tenor Moore. He was often likened to Frank Sinatra, never because of his singing voice nor appearance, but because of his irrational bully tendencies that teetered on straight ahead asshole behavior.
He was sweating profusely, pacing about in the dressing room, in an absolute tizzy over an indecent proposal just hours before. Three thugs who worked for Huggsy Stallone, Tick, Tack and Toe, advised Tenor to take a dive on the last song. The odds were very high that he would have blown it anyway, for he wasn’t so good. The truth of the matter, he lacked stamina.
Tenor asked the obvious question, “And if I don’t?”
At the risk of spreading blind bankism, all banks are financial institutions.
As good old Charlie Braun, the elderly bank guard, escorted the vagrant away, he, not the bank guard, who recently earned a certificate for 25 years of excellence on the job, nor the old man with his blue velvet bag with the golden drawstring converting coins to dollars, but the vagrant, shook off the padded trench coat and removed the long grizzled gray beard covering his face.
Did you know Speedway® was ranked the 4th worst company to work for in the U.S. in 2018.
Rosemary Underhill sneered. She was angry; her face was burning red. Her cap was floating inches above her head from the rising steam. It turns out her credit card was declined. “You are a little little pissant.” She over-enunciated the ‘p’ and spit.
The sound of a switchblade and a motorbike.
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