So here is how it unfolded. I’ve been talking about going to chicken shit bingo at Ginny’s Longhorn Saloon for years. I never make it because its on Sundays at 3pm. That is usually the time where the thought of having a case of the Mondays starts rolling in like a black cloud over my glorious Sunday Funday. Today, I was again beginning to waver on our plans to head on out to watch the cocks poop. Then this little conversation happened:

Me: “I feel like we have to go. I’ve been talking about going for four years.”

HP: “Every time you say it it gets longer. I’ve been talking about going since I was seven.”

Me: “My mom wanted to go before I was born.”

HP: “Jesus wanted to go but couldn’t get there in his sandals. Christopher Columbus wanted to go.”

Me: “Why did Christopher Columbus cross the ocean? To find chicken shit bingo.”

At this point, we determined that our mission is to realize the visions of Jesus and Christopher. So to Chicken Shit bingo we will go.

Also part of this conversation:

Me: “Don’t you like the short straws?”

HP: “Yeah, they are like the only good short thing in the world.”

Me: “Because it brings you closer to your margarita.”