Tam tells me today is the centennial of the adoption of the 1911 by the U.S. Army. I had this sudden image of the pore little Orphan 1911, sitting all lonely in the orphanage with only its dog 45ACP* for company 'til General Warbucks came along and adopted it, but she says that's not how it went.
(Title is not a comment on the muzzle velocity of the venerable cartridge, honest. "The shot'll get there, to-morrow, you c'n betcher bottom dol-lar..." Heheheh.)
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* It only says one thing: "Bang!"
Update
1 week ago
7 comments:
Long live the 1911!
Dontcha worry none lil' Bobbi. Shure as shootin' you'll be living at 1911 Browning Street real soon, now. You'll be getting' your love too right quick - you'll see!
Um, what?
Brigid tells me that sometimes my humor completely misses. Now I believe her.
This was an attempt to use the parlance from the period piece of Annie to convey that you, as an orphan, will also be adopted...
Ugh. Explaining it made it worse. Perhaps my vernacular was unconvincing.
I'll just go back to hiding.
I thought it was funny.
Though I kinda hate Roberta now, after I finished laughing at the original post that miserable song latched onto my brain like a headcrab.
Yep. +1 for the "Annie" earworm. Thanks for nuthin'.
Heh heh heh. I'm puuure evil, I am.
(And North? The effort was appreciated, I just suddenly saw Daddy Warbucks in a creepily new light....)/
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