Yucko McFucko
I have this guy I thought I got rid of. It’s been a gloriously silent two months.
Then, he resurfaced. Eight times in two days.
I made the mistake of not launching a missile toward his house.
He said to me, “Time just FLIES when we’re talking!”
I said, “For whom?”
He thinks I’m hilarious.
I call him Yucko McFucko. Because I get such a colossal HUZ when he’s on the prowl.
Maybe I’m no prize either. But damn. Is it so wrong that I’m holding out for my Chip Esten … or Jon Bon Jovi … or Kip Winger … or an adventure as the creamy center in a Jake Owen/Luke Bryan sammich?