“Are you serious Moira?

You want my help hanging this? What the hell is it? Looks like the earth’s exploding.  And there’s blue goo oozing out the side. What are those? Are they stars or Samurai weapons? The bird looks like it got slammed behind a door or something. Looks like crochet. It feels like, hey wait a minute. Oh hell…it is crochet. You crocheted a picture? Did I pay for that yarn?

Sweet mother of trinity.

No, I don’t care how much your sister likes crochet. If she wants to drink one of those Marjareetas or whatever the hell they’re called and look at this picture, put it in the car with her and send them both to Tijuana.

You want to hang it where? No way…for crying out loud Moira, I’m not putting it over the bar. That’s where I have my Chargers helmet and Jim Beam light shade. John Hadl gave me that helmet. He didn’t knit me some retarded picture. Football and booze. That’s what goes over the bar. Football. Booze. Maybe a pin up, but guys don’t like smashed birds and exploding worlds done in crochet. Maybe the Ninja weapons but no birds. Ball, booze, blades, broads Moira. No birds. Get it straight.

Now go fix me a double. And a ham sandwich. It’s almost lunch time.”

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