Sunday Evening Post

The week in Photos.

 Hey.  Come on, Gang.  Pretty Please - with sugar on top.

You would hope that something like that would go without saying, but it doesn't seem to be the case.

 Speaking of stealing, how 'bout them Bucs?  They've been stealing hopes and dreams from us loyal fans now for over twenty years.  Failure is a lesson you should learn early.  It builds character.

 Good one.

 My son spent the week at skimboard camp and learned all about the joys of jock itch.

 Nothing beats fresh Frankenstein maters from the garden.  Slice that bad boy up for a sandwich and you got something.

 It was car against trees up North.  Guess who won.

 Dogs in Uggs are "Duggs."

 I look in the rearview and discovered that the 1980s are back.  I guess that's O.K. ...

  just don't end up like these guys.

 Tough gig being two and a half - dress-up, tea parties and krumpets...

 Now that's more like it.  Bring back the seventies!  Play some Skynyrd!

 Careful.  He's packin' a dog.

 I'm not a big cat fan, but thought it only fair to include one to balance out the heavy canine vibe this week.  Here's Kitler, the neighbor's feline with a Nazi mustache.

Therein lies the dreaded chigger. A few of those heathens got me good while I was Henry Thoreau-ing through the woods.

(Say - that rhymes)!

If you are getting ready to tee off on the first hole, and Mr. Planters Peanut strolls up in spats and a top hat and casually asks if he can join you, and then inquires if you would like to wager ten bucks a hole, DO NOT ACCEPT THE BET.

Popeye Spinach - helping beat up bullies since
1929.


See you next week.