I swear, Randy, you are the laziest man I ever seen. You sit there on the hot porch and you won’t even bother to fan yourself.
Why I should fan myself, Mama, when I got this here cold beer you brung me? And thanks, by the way. If you happen past the kitchen, maybe get me another?
If I wasn’t sure you were my son I’d wonder where you got such a powerful ease.
Mama, one of us working so hard should please the Lord enough to smile.
Why don’t you at least fix up that fan like you promise?