Today I have for you one of my favorite anecdotes (because attempting to write a post about how I am thankful that Kevin Jones no longer plays for the Lions so I don't have to root for the Detroit-fucking-Lions anymore had a bit of the wrong spirit about it).
One of the Ex's college roommates was a delightful fellow from Florida. He had a certain...shall we say... roughness about him that generally resulted in him telling women to make him a sammich.
Now, one afternoon, this fellow decided that he was in need of a book from the University Library, however, since the library was run in a Library of Congress style, you needed to bring the information about the materials you wanted to the desk and they would retrieve it for you.
Our boy walked up to the circulation desk and, in his friendly drawl, asked the clerk, "Where's this book at?"
The clerk, turned up his nose, put on a rather distasteful scowl and sneered back that this was a prestigious, Ivy League institution and that he should know better than to commit such a heinous grammatical error as to end a sentence with a preposition.
If there was one thing that this particular guy did not take kindly to, it was stereotypical, snotty, comes-from-big-money kids lording the fact that they thought they were better over him. So he looked the clerk square in the eyes and responded with what my be the greatest answer ever uttered.
"Okay, you're right. Where's this book at...., fucker?"
...and they say there is no class left in the world.