Two nights ago I was sitting around a campfire in Colorado. There were marshmellows, a bear, a stary sky, guitars and even a harmonica. There is something magical about a campfire that makes you put up with all the smoke and want to sing. The crowd was mostly older and the guitarists mostly stuck to things like the Eagles and House of the Rising Sun.
But then Owen chimed in.
If you read my blog, you know what comes next.
"Brass monkey, that funky monkey"
The wrangler about choked on his smore.
1 comments:
This made me laugh so hard I had to share it with my co-workers. Go, O!
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