Originally Posted by Caruso329
It's a long story. It was last Monday. I was going over to a good mate's of mine abode (that mean's home) with a sack of oregano. He was making ravioli. He always makes ravioli on Mondays, I always bring the oregano. I figured the best way to bring it was a trusty zip-lock bag, so I measured it out and sealed it up. In to my pocket it went. I cranked up my dusty blue '78 Camaro and listened to the 454 roaring out the hood. I always thought that impressed the ladies. I don't think it does but I like to pretend sometimes. Now was one of them times. I opened my glove compartment, put the herb in, shut it and locked it tighter than Fort Knox. I peeled out of my driveway and headed over to my mate's like a bat out of Hell (or maybe a banshee... a screaming one..). I pulled up to my mate's house, but something was different this time. Instead of me parking and going inside for a sit-down, I see me mate running out in his boxer's. What the fuck is this fucker doing? I'm thinking. He comes up and shakes my hand and hands me the bread he cooked Friday. He always cooks bread on Friday. I shut off my ride and open the lock box and hand him his spice. And it must've been some fine oregano, probably imported from Italy. Italy sounds like a place where they would export oregano... yep... But like I was saying, it must've been some skunky spice because it brought the pigs as fast as rats will go to carrion.
To make a longer story short, the pig saw my herb and walked up to me. He nudged my knee and I knew he wanted to know what I had.
Well, I ain't doing no time for a fucking italian spice that goes great on pasta, poultry, and fish. So that's why I had to kill'em.
