Thursday, June 16

Fuckin' Bruins

With my outlaws in tow last Friday we went to local 1920's throwback and vageuly rude sounding Cuchi Cuchi for dinner. The evening got off to a good start when Anne called to tell me that nobody in her taxicab had any money to pay the driver.

Later, after a few Side Cars and a belly full of international cuisine that we must not call tapas, we again bundled the ladies into the first cab, this time with money.

When the 2nd cab arrived, I jumped in with my Cleveland based B-in-law Ron, and Brandon the husband of Anne's niece Mandy, who live in big old Chicago.

Turns out our cab driver was applying for the role of '3rd stereotypical Boston guy' in an imaginary gritty new drama coming from an imaginary new TV network (that is probably a 3-letter acronym).

"What abawt those fuckin' Broooins", he asked, oblivious to our geographic representation and the fact that we'd been holed up in a restaurant resembling old Hollywood for the past 3 hours.

The next 5 minutes was an exercise in shoeing in the word fuck, fuckin, fuckhole, fuckwad plus some new derivations even I had not thought of. Hugely entertaining. In fact way more entertaining than the foghorns going off last night as I tried to get my much needed beauty sleep.

I'm glad our town won the cup for America's 4th biggest sport, but add the cacophony of noise to the whoops and hollahs of the local jail whenever an NBA game is on, and you'll understand why I just need some sleep. Some fuckin' sleep.

Thank you.

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