135 Phrases of rock ‘n roll

Rumors zipped across Ross Valley like ace ninjas. The action had moved from the Plip Plop Coffe Shop to Ross Valley’s patio and pool, Uncle Joe and the Administrative Assistant were finally to hear. They dropped their handsies – there was total trust between them by now – then raised them. “Good golly!” and “Glory hallelujiah!” they cried, their hands shaking above their shoulders, as if they were witnessing a miracle. It was only Regis and Kelly, but that was motivation enough. “Never too late to bring a present!” the Adminstrative Assistant wished aloud. Uncle Joe made the wish his command, and expertly shoplifted bug spray, flypaper, and an electronic mosquito and gnat zapper. (He left a note. The new man, the becoming of “Joseph,” was honest, but like the old Joe, he was still broke.) When they arrived at the aerie that was Ross Valley’s on Goodhill Road, they saw it was too late. Baby Drew, though stamped for life by the profound imprimatur of the flyswatter, had moved on. “You get to use a bazooka?” Uncle Joe couldn’t believe it, although he had to believe it, and did believe it. The Administrative Assistant draped all over him and said, “Don’t worry, baby, you have me. And we’ve got love – L-U-V.” But a bazooka was just too cool, and Joe couldn’t help himself. “I wish my name was Drew.”

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