Tag: Rumble Seat

On the thirteenth day of Christmas, your true love returns the partridge in a pear tree, buys cashmere, hires the Cajun she’s philandering to murder you. No two turtle doves coo alike. No two entertain you so, nightly, before dawn enters. No three French hens sleep as sensitive as you. Anyhoo, his orders are to corner you before four calling birds can dial 911, a feat they’re trained to accomplish in seconds. You see five golden rings emerge from a sink of dishwashing soap. Your marital status makes six geese a laying seem like six geese not getting laid. You try personalizing all seven swans a swimming – still can’t tell why they tread in unison. You’d file Chapter 7 if eight maids a milking didn’t churn enough product to fill every cereal bowl in town. All your nine pipers piping produce is hemoglobin and ash. The cost of replacing [...]