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I received an email from a group called Cherry Digital in Portland, Oregon, or what remains of the town after being firebombed to near obliteration by denizens of the Looney Left.
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In a town of 7,500, I found myself in a long line of traffic that would not budge. In either lane.
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Dear Cameron Charles Yarbrough:
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It was on a sunny October Saturday afternoon.
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Although it is tempting, there will be no New Year’s resolutions for this guy for 2022. At my stage in life, I don’t resolve stuff anymore. If I did, I would resolve not to lose weight. I would resolve to eat dessert first, starting with banana pudding. If I even thought about resolving to exercise, I would resolve to lie down on the sofa and binge-watch episodes of The Andy Griffith Show until the urge went away. I am not into resolutions that won’t last past the fourth quarter of the Boola-Boola Tasty Noodle Bowl, Instead, I am into hope. Hope springs eternal.
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One day I walked into Tink’s home office where he usually sits in an overstuffed chair decorated in bold flowers of orange, yellow and green. His feet were slung out on the matching ottoman.
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If you don’t know by now, I love my alma mater, the University of Georgia, the oldest state-chartered university in the nation. I am a proud graduate and a past president of the national alumni association. I have a haughty-looking portrait hanging somewhere in my beloved Grady College of Journalism and Mass Communications, where I give what I consider a rather generous number of shekels each year to benefit the outstanding students who are fortunate enough to gain admission.
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I had a COVID-19 test the other day even though I have been fully-vaccinated and wear my mask regularly in public. I am sure to some of you that proves I am a liberal weenie commie who loves Nancy Pelosi, watches CNN and glows in the dark. But I digress.
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