This afternoon Foxy is off at the doctor’s office doing whatever kind of things doctors want you to do when you’re pregnant. Before she drove off to throw her legs into stirrups and get finger banged by the doctor, she and I decided to have a little lunch. We typically drive in the same car when we go to lunch together, but since she had an appointment afterwards, she ended up following me to the place.
People, I’m here to inform you that Foxy is the slowest driver on the face of this earth. You may think to yourself, “No, Catherinette, my aunt Gladys/uncle Harold is the slowest driver on this earth.” You are wrong. In a drag race, your aunt Gladys/uncle Harold could easily beat Foxy. All they would need to do is exceed 25 miles per hour and she’d be sucking their dust. Seriously. WTF. Foxy, kick it up a notch. I don’t care if your motto is “arrive alive”, mine is “arrive today.” Let’s go.
So she’s getting her lab work done and she starts text messaging me:
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Foxy: A bunch of ur people r here at the lab. They r here for pee tests and they all have do rags.
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Me: Are they standing around holding tacos?
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Foxy: No, I was wondering about that. Now another dude is here for a d test. I think he will fail.
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Me: What if the test was for the clap? Would he pass?
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Foxy: Not sure. Does having the clap make you smell like a bong?
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Me: Let me ask Claude. I’ll get back to you.