There's an elderly blind man who calls my work phone before 7 a.m. almost every Sunday morning to comment on my column, praise me or criticize me. He goes to a special Web site to have the paper read to him. How that Web site even knows what some of my made-up words mean, I have no idea.
Anyway, he left me a long message about my latest column yesterday, concerning my upcoming pilgrimage to the Jimmy Buffett concert in Atlanta and how my boss, Pork Chop, is more excited than anybody because she knows I'll be in a good mood for a while. (You can credit the onset of summer for that, as well.) The message began with:
"I disagree with Pork Chop. I don't think you're an idiot. I think you're a bloomin' idiot."
Sucks when you really have no defense for that.
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