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Many years ago, as a young sailor, I met a pretty girl at a Penny Arcade in New York City. We hit it off pretty quick and I seized the opportunity to ask her out on a date. She refused and told me her parents never allowed her to go out with a guy unless they met him first, so she invited me home for supper with her family.
Her mother was the biggest, fattest woman I have ever seen in person. She worked for the City of New York as a tunnel cleaner. Apparently, they tied a rope around her middle and the other end to a pickup bumper and pulled her through the tunnels to clean them.

At supper that evening I was present along with her three brothers, her dad, Mom, and the daughter. Her Mom brought out a huge platter of mashed potatoes and sat it on the table followed by a large bowl of gravy, a mixed platter of carrots, peas, and squash, and then everyone had a glass of lemonade to drink. That was when Mom brought in a platter with five pork chops on it and sat it down on the table. As a youngster, I was in a number of pretty nasty fights, but the one that started when those pork chops hit the table was exceptionally brutal.

Knives and forks were flashing as everyone went for the meat. It was ugly. One of the brothers got cut, as I recall, and it was a battle worth remembering. Although it is worthy of mentioning here, the three pork chops I got and ate were delicious.
Caseyboy
 
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