In 1959, my parents had a baby girl. She was cute but she cried a lot. About two years later when she learned to talk, she started breaking my balls and, except for some brief interludes for biting her nails and smoking cigarettes, hasn’t stopped. She used to put dirty socks in my mouth when I was sleeping to keep me from snoring. She once chased me around the house with a big kitchen knife (she was slow). In 1984, she got married and my brother-in-law started absorbing most of the flak. Then, she had a son and he took some of the shots. But he grew up to be 6′ 6″ and 250 lbs. She stopped bugging him around 6′ 180 lbs. I’m thinking of hiring him for protection.
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