This is what I get for talking TRASH (Ha, see what I just did there?)...
Got an email from George just now asking if we'd be able to haul off all the crap from the Rednecks' old house.
We need to do it. It seems that Brian's truck is out to force us into the poor house (or should I say the poorER house). Every time we fix something, something else immediately starts to fall apart - it's like the vehicular version of that movie The Money Pit. Currently it's making a noise that can only be described as a chorus of baby birds who have taken up residence somewhere deep in the engine...and who are dying a slow painful death.
I think I know what I'M doing this weekend.
My life so totally rocks.