So my dad’s oldest brother is actually named Thomas (after my grandfather, not my brother), but no one calls him that because it would besmirch a good family name. He mostly spends his time drinking, flying to Asia to pick up girls, and writing angry Letters to the Editor correcting grammar. You’d think at least he’d have some good stories to tell about all the times he’s been in Chinese prison or run out of the state of Alabama, but mostly he just tells bad jokes about flatulence. Fortunately, we don’t have to be nice to him. Unfortunately, we do have to have breakfast with him:
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