I just called home to check up on my wife when a trucker answered the phone.
He had a gruff voice that carried the instant imagery of a muscular brute sporting a ZZ Top beard and a rotting baseball cap that read BJ's BBQ and Tackle.
So of course I thought I had the wrong number and was about to hang up when the trucker said, "I love you."
Somewhere between last night and this morning my wife's cold has reached alert status Orange. The Department of Homeland Security has been notified, the Storeyhaus is now officially a biohazard zone.
Join the fray by reading through and commenting at the end.
There are about 5 jokes that, in the interest of good taste and out of respect for Greg and his wife, I will not make at this point. But, Greg, you're just leaving the door wide open here, buddy.
I am not above nor below being the target of the jokes you mention. Just remember that my dear mother reads this site. Otherwise give it your best shot, let the hilarity begin.
A trucker flu, eh? My God, poor thing. But nothing beats good ol' 'green death' NyQuil. For what ails ya!