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These two hotties have been best friends since kindergarten. Both sets of parents are practicing Naturists who met and became friends at a Naturist beach in Agios Ioannis on the island of Mykonos. They’ve remained close over the years so it was no surprise that the two boys would follow birthday suit.
Rocco, who for some reason prefers riding his horse naked, is escorting his buddy Angelo home from the mental hospital. Rocco would’ve taken the chariot, but he forgot where he parked it. Or maybe the horses wandered off with it. It was around somewhere.
In any case, Angelo had spent a week in the psyche ward for slicing his wrists. He had passed out by the time Rocco found him and rushed him to the hospital. This was the fourth time Angelo had tried to end himself.
“Angelo?” Rocco began. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” Angelo demanded. “I’m walking down the street. Is that a crime?”
“You know what I mean.” Rocco stopped his horse. “Let’s talk for a minute. Take a break.”
They found a clearing next to a river complete with a picnic table and olive trees for shade. All they needed was a couple of souvlakis and some beer.
Rocco dismounted and took a seat on the bench, running his hand over it to check for slivers. Angelo took a seat on the opposite bench, ignoring the possibility of slivers in his rear end. “What you want to talk about?”
“You can’t die, Angelo!” Rocco said as his eyes teared up. “Don’t you know what you mean to me? What would happen to me if something happened to you? Do you even think about that?”
Angelo stood up and began punching the air and dancing around like a boxer. “Of course I think about it, Rocco. I think about it all the time. How can we ever be together without constantly looking over our shoulders? Public displays of affection are out. I’m gonna learn how to box so I can protect us!” He began dancing around and punching the air again. “Kick some bigoted ass, you know?”
“Okay, let’s think about this.” Rocco stood up and began pacing back and forth like an attorney. “We both have good jobs and save our money for the most part. We could afford to move somewhere … safer.”
“Safe?!” Angelo asked incredulously. “Like where, Rocco? Where’s it safe.”
Rocco grinned at him. Remember that Naturist beach in Agios Ioannis —
“On Mykonos, right?” Angelos eyes brightened. “Man, that was fun. I miss those days.”
Rocco smiled. “Me too, buddy! So, I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of finding us jobs on Mykonos. If we’re interested, we could start working as waiters at this joint on the beach next week.”
“You’re kidding.” Angelo stopped punching the air. “You wanna do it?”
“Hell yeah!” Rocco said. “I wanna do it.”
“Awesome! Now all I gotta do is find the chariot…”


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Welcome to the daily Three Things Challenge, hosted by Di of Pensitivity101.
Use your imagination and creativity using one, two or all three words that may or may not be related. There are no restrictions regarding length, style, or genre, though please keep it family friendly.
Tag your responses with 3TC, #threethingschallenge or TTC, and you can add Di’s logo if you wish.

Our three words today are:
WALLOW
WANT
WRITER
This story takes place back in the day when publishers actually mailed honest-to-God, held-in-the-hand rejection letters to wannabe-writers — stamped and everything. Sometimes they would even offer suggestions.
Arnold had just received his first rejection letter from The New Yorker magazine and couldn’t have been more thrilled. To think someone from a prestigious magazine like that would bother to read, let alone take the time to write and explain why his story was rejected, was almost too much for Arnold. He nearly burst with pride and excitement.
I gotta call Mom!
He dialed her up and the phone rang and rang until her voice mail urged Arnold to leave a message.
“Mom? It’s me. Arnold. I have really big news. I mean big! I can’t just leave a message; you gotta hear it in person. Call me, please!”
Well, that was disappointing. Who else can I call that would give a crap‽
He couldn’t think of a soul.
Hmmmph! I guess that’s the price one must pay for fame.
Arnold took a shower, shaved, and put on his best suit. He then called Chez Pierre which was the restaurant in town and made a reservation for one. If it isn’t too late after dinner, he’d stop at Wal-Mart and pick up a frame for this life-changing letter.
Once seated at Chez Pierre, Arnold ordered a bottle of their finest champagne and the escargot for an appetizer.
Arnold made a toast and wallowed in the limelight of fame.
I have arrived.

This week at Song Lyric Sunday, Jim Adams asked us to find a song that is based on real life. I chose, “I Drive Your Truck” by Lee Brice.
This emotional song was inspired by the true story of a man who coped with the loss of his brother, a soldier, by driving his truck. Co-writer Connie Harrington heard the story in an interview with the brother of a fallen soldier, and it struck a chord. The raw emotion of the real-life event shines through in the lyrics, making it a tribute to anyone who has lost a loved one.
Conversely, according to Wikipedia, the song is about the narrator driving a truck owned by his brother, who died in action in the United States Army. Co-writer Connie Harrington was inspired to write it after hearing an interview on Here and Now with a father, Paul Monti, whose son, Medal of Honor recipient Jared, was killed in Afghanistan while trying to save a fellow soldier. In the interview, he states that he drives the truck to feel close to his son.[1][2][3]
The truck that appears in the music video is a 1973 Ford F-100. The actual truck driven by Jared Monti, and then his father, Paul, was a Dodge Ram 1500 adorned with decals, including the 10th Mountain Division, the 82nd Airborne Division, an American flag and a “Go Army” decal.[4] On September 1, 2022, Jared’s truck was driven by two of his Army comrades during the funeral procession for Paul Monti.[5]
Billy Dukes of Taste of Country gave it 4.5 stars out of 5, saying that “Brice’s strong lyrical performance[…]should broaden the story’s scope, making it a big hit commercially and artistically.”[2] Tammy Ragusa of Country Weekly gave the single an A grade. She said that Brice “sings it like his life depends on it” and praised the detail of the lyrics.[6]
The song was awarded Song of the Year honors at the 47th annual Country Music Association Awards, as well as Song of the Year at the 49th annual Academy of Country Music Awards.
89 cents in the ashtray
Half empty bottle of Gatorade
Rollin’ in the floorboard
That dirty Braves cap on the dash
Dog tags hangin’ from the rearview
Old Skoal can and cowboy boots
And a “Go Army” shirt folded in the back
This thing burns gas like crazy
But that’s all right
People got their ways of copin’
Oh, and I’ve got mine
I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, I tear it up
‘Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust
Yes, sometimes, I drive your truck
I leave that radio playin’
The same ole country station
Where you left it
Yeah, man, I crank it up
You’d probably punch my arm right now
If you saw this tear rollin’ down my face
Hey, man, I’m tryin’ to be tough
And mamma asked me this mornin’
If I’d been by your grave
But that flag of stone
Ain’t where I feel you anyway
I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, I tear it up
‘Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust
Yes, sometimes, I drive your truck
I’ve cussed, I’ve prayed, I’ve said goodbye
I’ve shook my fist and asked God why
These days, when I’m missin’ you this much
I drive your truck
I roll every window down
And I burn up
Every back road in this town
I find a field, and I tear it up
‘Til all the pain’s a cloud of dust, yes, sometimes
Brother, sometimes, I drive your truck
I drive your truck
I hope you don’t mind
I hope you don’t mind
I drive your truck
Songwriters: Connie Rae Harrington, Jessi Leigh Alexander, Jimmy Yeary. For non-commercial use only.