Ahh. I get it. It’s a viscous cycle.
Me: Well, it’s ......a long story.
Now that is bold.
https://preview.redd.it/m5ilmigjv4v51.png?width=640&format=png&auto=webp&s=ce48ec5cbcddbacbbaf121aed97c0585e6467cda
It’s a long story.
For doing a pour job.
You seakelp
“Santa: you’ve been around since the 4th century, seen alphabets and languages rise and fall. Do you have a favorite letter?”
Claus thinks about it, scratches his thick white beard and says: “A B C D E F G H I J K M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z”
“Well Santa, I just asked for one. What does that mean?”
“And I gave you one! My favorite letter of the alphabet is the most Christmasy one out there! No-L!”
“It’s long story,” replies the father.
I just don't put a lot of stock in soup.
He's such a smoothie talker.
I guess the steaks are high.
I'm absolutely gutted...we've been through thick and thin
Me: i’d say it’ll be gigan-thick!
Gandhi, by the time he died, he was a very thin and elderly man who had walked almost everywhere he went barefoot causing thick pads on the bottom of his feet. He was also an extremely wise man who many considered a seer, and he ate ethnic Indian cuisine causing bad breath........Turns out he was a super fragile calloused mystic hexed by halitosis.
I thought, "That's bold."
It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”
“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.
Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.
Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.
“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”
“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”
Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.
After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u
... keep reading on reddit ➡I fought the lawn, and the lawn won.
Boss: What?
Man: Yes, I’m calling in Sikh.
Pi * Z * Z * A
Rick O'Shae
And my arms for being by my side for all these years.
"Not on the thin eyes." The surgeon said.
Halfway through the show, the music stops and Bono stands middle stage clapping his hands every few seconds. "Every time I clap my hands, a child in Africa dies" Without missing a beat, from somewhere in the front of the crowd a man bellows out in a thick Irish accent: "Well stop fucking doing it ya evil bastard!"
She must have called in thick
Cause it didn’t have a thick enough coat
It’s pretty high koala tea
A guy across the street yells to him "Hey mate, are you a pole vaulter?"
So the first guy shouts back "No, actually I am originally from Austria but how did you know my name is Walter?"
(You've got to lay the accent on quite thickly for the last part)
A square dance
They hate apart thighs.
They're thick and tired of it.
The workers in a thick Japanese accent said DAT SOON
Dad : It's a long story
From r/Technicallythetruth
I told him It's a long story
Dad: it’s a long story.
Well, it's a long story...
