Upon the completion of the reconstruction of the un-motorised motorhome, Tim believed nothing bad could touch them again because his reason led him to believe lightening never struck in the same place twice, so why would a tornado? But as we can previously recall, all Tim's walk that fine line between stupid and idiot.
Further proving our mutual knowledge, not understanding the value of money, Tim bought seven cases of beer with the cash he had saved on replacing the roof. Tim decided he was going to have himself a party.
The party would be on the very next night. A Friday! But since it was Thursday and there were seven cases of beer, Tim decided he could drink one of those cases on this Thursday. And at least another on Friday!
Tim was really happy. He thought it was a wonderful Thursday.
But it was on this Thursday, in the night, when they were sitting outside and around the Hibatchi, roasting hot dogs with Justin, who had dropped-in, so Justin was drinking beer, too, while both men, with bare feet on patio stones and faces full of chew, and while all were listening to the CD player that was sitting in the back bedroom's window, playing Garth Brooks and ZZ Top on random, that Tim was to find out bad things do touch people. More than once. Lightening struck first. It hit the television antenna, rigged to the roof. It started a fire.
"You stupid...fucking...idiot," his wife said to him, waddling out of the lawn chair, her hands fully of baby-belly, walking to the dirt road, in her ducky slippers. "I am going to Linda's."
An hour later, she was drinking coffee and still bitching.
And Tim and Justin were at Rusty's Tavern.
When the second tornado hit their un-motorised motorhome.
Further proving our mutual knowledge, not understanding the value of money, Tim bought seven cases of beer with the cash he had saved on replacing the roof. Tim decided he was going to have himself a party.
The party would be on the very next night. A Friday! But since it was Thursday and there were seven cases of beer, Tim decided he could drink one of those cases on this Thursday. And at least another on Friday!
Tim was really happy. He thought it was a wonderful Thursday.
But it was on this Thursday, in the night, when they were sitting outside and around the Hibatchi, roasting hot dogs with Justin, who had dropped-in, so Justin was drinking beer, too, while both men, with bare feet on patio stones and faces full of chew, and while all were listening to the CD player that was sitting in the back bedroom's window, playing Garth Brooks and ZZ Top on random, that Tim was to find out bad things do touch people. More than once. Lightening struck first. It hit the television antenna, rigged to the roof. It started a fire.
"You stupid...fucking...idiot," his wife said to him, waddling out of the lawn chair, her hands fully of baby-belly, walking to the dirt road, in her ducky slippers. "I am going to Linda's."
An hour later, she was drinking coffee and still bitching.
And Tim and Justin were at Rusty's Tavern.
When the second tornado hit their un-motorised motorhome.
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