I love a smartass.
Guy at the 7-11: I see we’re eating from the two basic food groups today
Me: yes, sugar and preservatives
7-11: A part of this nutritious breakfast
me: as well as caffeine and heavy cream
7-11: Don’t leave home without it
me:
7-11: You preserve the donuts, and the donuts will preserve you.
As quick and easy as if we’d rehearsed it for a month. Some people are just natural born smartasses. Like yesterday:
Co Worker 1 walks up behind Co Worker 2 and grabs him firmly by the shoulders
Co Worker 2: “You scared the shit out of me”
Me: “You’d have disapeared”
it literally took everyone about eight seconds to figure that one out.
I have had my ass kicked for being a smartass before, and I’m sure I will again.
Spits coffe on keyboard.
Good one. I can never think of them till later.
I used to bemoan the fact that I’m not faster on my feet than I am.
As I age, I increasingly find myself thanking God I am not.
Momma always said it’s a far better thing to be a smartass than a dumbass.
The only person who ever hurt me for being a smartass was my maternal Grandmother.
Gramma: Dont you get smart with me.
me: So you want me to get dumb?
me getting up from the floor: OW!
My life was like that until I was old enough to vote.
Down the road apiece from here they hold the annual Grand American Coon Hunt. Folks come in from all over the country.
A middle-aged Yankee walked up to a group of us Southerners and said (thick Yankee accent): Youse guys don’t hunt coon the way we do up north. Up there, when the dogs tree the coon, we ride our mules down to the crick.
Me (thick Southern accent): We’ll sir, we don’t do it too different from you Yankees. Down here when the dogs tree we ride our jackasses down to the branch.
Pandemonium ensued. The look on the Yankee’s face is etched into my memory. I was 14.