I see.
She hates boxes though, so, even though she has a VCR, the box is long gone. You're also sh[b][/b]it out of luck with the oily rags.
If it must be, then it must, but could you do my eulogy? I'd like people to know that my moronism still lives on.
Either you've never buried a dog, or my mother doesn't really give a damn about animals, because even the most beloved of our pets that ended up with a nice tire-tread tattoo across their body got a hole in the ground, and some natural gravestone, and before you get all emotional about the fact that there was a gravestone, it was solely to avoid digging it up again when I go to bury the next animal foolish enough to chase the oh-so-elusive chicken that crossed the road.
Tag, you're it.