She ran her hands through her hair, breathed

She ran her hands through her hair, breathed deeply, winked, and said, "

Buuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrppppppp! Ahhhh, that was a good one." She hiccuped daintily. "Now your turn."

I use the term "she" loosely. Very loosely. The football coach was in drag and it sickened us. He'd forgotten his foundation.

We gave Coach a black eye (eye shadow provided by Urban Decay) and went through the X's and O's with him. "Drag is a journey, not a race," I said. "Look at Peyton Manning. His rosy

Look vanished once we reached Highway 61 in MO. Peyton Place was not too far from the junction of Highway 61 and Joe Hill Rd. The infamous stomping ground of the then infamous clan

known only as The Petticoat Junction Gals was just a bit further. They always met in the water tower where they thought no-one could hear them, but everyone could. Their capers

were running nude through halls of an abandon primary school singing backwards & eating cake with their feet. It was truly scary since the Petticoat Gals were all over 80 yrs old.

Petticoat Gals were convinced to move their foot-themed tea party back out into the garden, and sing mostly frontwards. Only then did we realize the tea had been laced with

laxatives. The prim and proper Petticoat Gals were soon sweating and shifting - they couldn't leave in the middle of the tea party! - until they loudly, messily shat themselves.

Then they were free to leave the tea party. They joined the Aristocrats and did quite well until Trump became President and "why pay for the cow".