“Hambone, how's for chuck?” Hambone removed pipe from mouth, slowly. “Wal, I reckon I still got a few whistleberries left. Some sonofabitch stew mabbe. A few shot biscuits.”
He was looking down at our seven-pound lump of innocence, his mind unblemished by Lucasian mythology. Can you believe he doesn't know about Star Wars yet?
Can you believe he doesn't know about Star Wars yet?
His lower-class tastes tended to run to three-stooges movies and cheap drink.
Cheers to Spike. Cheers to the Redemptionistas who never stopped believing.
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