Quote:
Originally Posted by Ol Blue K20
Imagine that, every other animal they're called "paws".   |
I call them claws. Chickens are birds, right? They are claws if one attacks you!
How about pigs feet? How come those aren't hoofs? That's where I got the "Ain't good for nothin' but keeping the ham out of the mud" thing I turned into chicken feet. Ole Paul Thompson the mechanic, worked with George at the Columbia Pike Amoco owned by George's b-i-l (Steve). George was a Chevy truck nut, had some sweet 67-72s, part of what got me going on them. They drank beer all day. Paul got a DUI test driving a customer's car
. They refused to work on any of my stuff. "Bring it over and fix it out there on the lot. If you get stumped we'll walk you through it. Steve will rip you off if we work on it." I hung out there a lot and learned a lot. Drank some beer, too. Talk about eating. Next door was The Dutchess, a sandwich shop run by the Hungarian man and his wife. He was the sandwich Nazi. You had to tell him how you wanted your sandwich the way he made it. LTM, right? WRONG!! It's mayo, then lettuce, then tomato! He sliced the meat for each sandwich as he made it. There would be a line out the door, but that's how he did it. Even though you already told him up front, before putting the top slice of bread on he would always ask, "salt peppa?". That's what we would all the place, "Want to go to salt Peppa for a sammich?". Quite a character. Great sandwiches, a local icon. Also made great milkshakes from hand dipped in many flavors. That was the wife's duty. No sooner did "milkshake" come out of your mouth and he would shout "MILKSHAKE" and she would hop to it lickity split. I heard people ask him how many sandwiches he made in a day. He'd reply, "I tell you dat and you figure out how much money I make and tell IRS"