“Dude, look, it’s says, ‘TBA,’ like, you’re [b]T[/b]HE [b]B[/b]ASS [b]A[/b]NGLER, right?”
Yeah, right. I came out of the hotel, met my buddies at the check out counter, and there was my Virgo bud, jeans. Boots, baseball hat, fine, yoke-cut tweed jacket, and on his lapel, there was a gaudy little rhinestone angel.
He pointed at the angel:
“I am [b]not[/b] happy about this.”
That Pisces replied, in “You going to work for me, you wear an angel. Now get in the truck.”