(xx) Hyena Grease

And here in the living room of the small house halfway up on the next block, we find Vic and Young Russell. Vic arrived home from the office about 10 minutes ago, immediately stretching out on the Davenport for a nap.

Young Russell is newly returned from a season of after-screwed adventuring in Tatman's vacant lot. Oyster crackin' blew through, Johnson come within 9-16th of an inch of having a fist bite. As soon as I go hang up my coat and head, I'll tell you all about it.

I'll leave you a hat and coat on. Huh? Leave your hat and go down. Go away. This sure is a fine walk, I'm home. I want to enjoy an hour's refreshing slumber. I do not want to listen to dull and tedious anecdotes.

Oyster cracker coming within 9th, 16th of an inch of heaven. A fistfight with Bluetooth Johnson is no dull and tedious anecdote. Citing as a half-wet horse. Go away, go away, go away. Be good fellas.

There's so many things in the kitchen. Hello? Our witness, grocery boy, or a big no doubt. Hello groceries, and you want to win? Afternoon, Russell. Mama and the living room, are we? Why, Uncle Fletcher?

I don't like the Robert Ingov, or rejoicing your bad luck, but it looks like you're going to have to get up from the damn board after all. Faith's unkind to me today. I'm life's football.

After all, Friday. Afternoon, Uncle Fletcher. Left date up Margie McClure at a Dale Garaway in higher Bob'slet and put up some sandwiches and go to Piorian, taking the board of his show. Well, they can't.

Why, Gritty, Gritty, Gritty, Gritty, Gritty, Gritty. You home, are they? Yes, sir. I hope you would be. Don't wish you were important, sir. The payment's such bold come to me. That's right. No, tell me, honest truth, right?