It’s time for another bare all exposé from the desk of the Redneck Granola. For many years now I have maintained a fantasy relationship with the Santitas Chip Lady. In Biblical times a tan may have been considered a sign of low status, reflecting hours of menial labor beneath the scorching hot rays of the sun.
But in my world, a beautiful tan reflects hours of menial labor beneath the scorching hot rays of the sun. And I find that scorching hot. Don’t tell me Miss Santitas got her tan from hours of reading People Magazine in a tanning bed. I don’t wish to sully my fantasy with such disgusting ruminations. [Read more...]