Daughter was just a tad over a year old. We were visiting England, hanging with Pete's sisters and their families and extended families. One of his sister's grandchildren -- for ease of story flow, I'll call him that although he was really the second bastard child of her stepdaughter and a lowlife who has actually turned out to be less of a lowlife then once presumed to be and let me state also that as my first two children were bastards I'll feel free to call any kid a bastard whom I feel like calling one so stick it -- was a piece of work. He was a major-ass bully.
He kept going after Daughter and the other weak of the tribe. He pissed me off to no end. I can't tell you how often I had to get that little effer off another kid.
At about the 10 minute mark, the kid has a major spill and starts bawling his eyes out.
I say, "That's God talking."
Much laughter ensues and that becomes one of my trademark sayings. ["You bastard!" is another.] [Not really, but it sounded good.]
Remember the crazy mofo near Youngest's school?
A deer went crashing through the plate glass window in the front of his house this morning.
A freakin' deer went crashing through his plate glass window!
That's God talking.
And a bunch of salt lick I paid in protection "money."
[The image is from i.ehow.com under "God Talking." How do they know? That's what I'd like to know.]