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Fear not, gentle McBoners. McBone's unique blend of social commentary, sports and anti-mayonnism is alive and well.
But even McBone needs a vacation from time to time, and so Alex and I packed our bags and deserted McBone HQ for some much-needed R&R in the Big Apple, where my erstwhile adoring wife assaulted me with a deadly weapon, opening a gash that I fear will forever mar my heretofore handsome visage.
My crime? Ogling eighteen-year-old Clare Tyson (of the New York Tysons).
But what's a little head wound (I should also mention that I got my head cut playing a little Guitar Hero against virtual guitar virtuoso, Aidan Tyson) when you're gallivanting on the grand avenues of the greatest city in the world? After a splash of peroxide, I slapped on a Band-Aid and was good to go. Alex and I gathered up the shattered pieces of our marriage and managed to spend a wonderful week in Manhattan, meeting old friends and stuffing our faces.
Renewed and refreshed, I pledge to bring to you out there in McBone Nation much more of what you have become hopelessly addicted to: that extra special, undiluted, unpasteurized, wholesome, homegrown, olde-tyme, organic, free-range and lactose-free McBone goodness.
nwb
Oozing gash compliments of Fiona Tyson, McBone Division of Hair and Makeup.
2 comments:
Manhattan has been known to destroy even the most solid of marriages; consider yourself lucky you escaped with a mere partial lobotomy.
Good to have you back blogging full-time. The blogosphere was getting fat and lazy in your absence.
Thanks, Kid. Good to be back. It's kind of funny that our cab driver thought I was really bleeding, and he wanted to take me to a hospital right away. I told him, no, I was all right, but he was truly worried.
nwb
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