In searching for an apartment today, I wandered down a dead-end road, where I met Hank and Harriet:
Don’t ever try to sneak up on a horse to take a picture, because they’ll hear you:
Hank has a white spot on his forehead, so he thinks he’s special.
Hey, Hank, can we talk?
I guess not…
From Urban Dictionary:
Dead-end (verb): The sending of a text that gives the recipient no where to go when texting back and disrupts the natural flow of the conversation. Often a one word answer, or closing comment.
Guy (texting): So howd u like that party the other day?
Girl (texting): It was good.
Guy: Aww man, she just dead-ended me.
That’s okay, I’ll talk to Harriet:
I’m lookin’ for a place to live, Harriet. Do ya’ll have any room in the barn?
Hank said that Donald Trump owns this farm, so monthly rent is one million dollars.
Well, I guess I’ll have to keep looking…
Hank also said, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. (And live rent-free on a farm.)
“I once thought that I was the only man that persevered to be the friend of the white man, but since they have come and cleaned out our lodges, horses, and everything else, it is hard for me to believe the white man any more.” Black Kettle