But I have good news. We're moving. No, no, not the blog. The crew. Yep, the Houston Curse has finally won, and won out big time. We put Home Port 2.0 on the block and sold it for the hood ornament from a 1963 Mercedes, two Slim Whitman eight-tracks, and a handful of magic beans. Whatever. To Suburban Middle Class Utopian Utopia we go, skipping, giggling and frolicking like the complete fools we are.
7. The middle school kid that got knocked dead cold unconscious on our driveway. He got crosswise with some little slimeballs that infest the local
8. The number 23. I drove to the grocery store about a year back, and no less than 23 police cars surrounded my bank. I counted. In the center of it all was an old van, some really salty looking characters including a few women of ah, considerable heft, let's say, and some bedraggled little scrawny dudes that looked like they had been in a fight with the entire 101st Airborne Division. I asked one of the sheriff's deputies what had happened, and evidently an identity theft ring needed to stop at the ATM. Naturally. A fistfight erupts. The cops are called. The fistfight then engulfs the officers, who basically call in every
Picture Caption: Jack shares his parents' love of quality Tex-Mex. This is how he finished off a bean and cheese burrito yesterday. The kid's not afraid. At all.