“I think I should go ahead and tell you; I’m not in love with your mom. Actually I never have been. It’s high time you know the truth.“
In my insatiable curiosity, I chanced upon this piece of “theologically correctness” about a week ago. I shall not reveal this paragon of dour and clueless. The prurient know exactly how to sate their mongering curiosity.
There has been need to rebuff the temptation to deliver sizzling riposte. But disdain and disgust eases into pity, first for the exquisitely gorgeous looking wife, then for the kiddies, and finally for him. Well begrudgingly the latter. Excruciatingly embarrassing memories, you know, the ones which spawn eternal self-loathing, have habit of humbling pompous scorn.