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Some Things Never Change
Some Things Never Change It's winter, 1967 and I have a fairly new Ford Mustang. Myself, and a friend we shall call Frank Mrowka because that was his name and I haven't heard from this guy since before 1970 so I think it's safe and...........anyway. We drive over from Queens to Manhattan or what NYers call "The City". We go over the 59th Street bridge, which non natives reveal themselves to be when they call it "The Queensboro Bridge", merely it's "official name" by corrupt New York pols. Anyway. we drive over to the THEN famous East Sixties where all the chickies (who I mistakenly thought I liked) were cruising. We find a place to "pull up" and see if our girl picking up<b> skills </font></b>require honing. Mine didn't. Frank leans out the window and yells "HEY! You wanna FUCK?" Naturally I did a wheelie (almost, this is a Ford six) and left quickly. I told Frank, "That doesn't work, pork brain, (I didn't say pork brain) and it never will!" And the lesson from the sermon this morning, gentlemen, is that it didn't work in the East Sixties (where the original Friday's was and which I visited several times) in the classy American era before the collapse of the country, and it STILL DOESN'T WORK. Learn, you fools, or you're no darn better than a Mrowka! |
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Clever and so very true 💋💋💋
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Being a woman, I can tell you that does not work.
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