Today's lunch at the Golden Corral will be my last. Everyone there knows me, especially Della, the waitress. Why would I leave and never go back, you ask. Here's why:
Della: Hi hon, how ya doin'?
Me: Aside from a small tiff with the supervisor, I'm doing fine.
Della: Can I pour you some more coffee?
Me: Sure. How's your day going?
Della: We're short staffed in the kitchen, Frank went home sick this morning.
Me: Oh the poor thing, did he have the flu or something?
Della: No, it was anthrax.
Me: CHECK PLEASE!
And the sad thing is, Della was dead serious.
IT'S ALMOST TIME!!!
She's at week 39!!!
I think the picture says the rest!!!
God Bless!!
8 years ago
2 comments:
OMG! are you serious? I haven't heard anything in the news...
She must be mistaken though. That doesn't make sense. Really...
Oh yeah, I knew I left something out. Della has a bad left ear. She may have heard one disease and thought it was anthrax. It did scare her pretty bad, though, she hadn't had a bowel movement all day...
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