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Think of us, those united to you in all but physical presence. As you gaze upon the bridges, the arena, the north-flowing river of life and the scoreboard, be our eyes. As you plot before battle and hold forth as it rejoins, be our voices. As you grasp the shoulders of those swaying in the fraternal bond of brotherhood, be our touch. As you cull the oakened, nuts, leather, and vanilla, the heavenly sweetened woody vanilla caramel laden bourbon, with a jag of peppery spice, be our taste.
And as you cram yet another Gator victory down the still yapping pie holes of the vermin cur from the north, kick them in their bulldog nuts as hard as you can. For those of us far afield, those loyal brethren apart in body but conjoined with you in mind and spirit, kick the dogs. Kick the dogs. Your foot is our foot. Your boot is our boot.
For the love of those far off, these simple things we ask.
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Liti-Gator
Doubletree Resident
(166.147.120.31) on 10/27/2012 - 9:54 a.m. says: ( 279 views
, 9 likes
)
