Joe Munn,
How do I discribe thee.... let me count the ways.
They say a picture is word a thousand words... So, I'll do you one better.. here's a thousand and one.
Your swarthy giant leprechaun looks make me jump on one leg every time I hear a closet door slam. Your voice sings like a morning song bird, fluttering gracefully in a prairie meadow in on cool spring day every time you rejoice for your favorite man-on-man tackling sporting even, much like the seductive overtures of a baritone crooning over a gramophone to order their favorite Ranalli's carry out or Hooter's hot wings, which some might think as a reflection of easy virtue. In which case, I will do my best to reprove myself and make any aberations infrequent. Then again, all this is just a bunch of folderol. A miscellaneous collection of words, in which I am conveying in a most special parlance, making it difficult to decipher the essence of this fop. Perhaps Joe's atavistic nature will alleviate him from such troubles and instead he will give into his instiable appetite for bacchanalian revelry. Ah, with Joe many a revel I witnessed and in some, partook. For Mr. Munn has a panache for the amalgamation of a libation. His award winning methods are quite laudable. Yes, the adulations of Munn continues ad infinitum. Well... until it reaches an ad hoc. It seems that describing this flim-flam with more than one accoutrement is a bit of a challenge. Thus, leaving me with this final thought, one that will resonate throughout all of time, no-reverberate. No-make that a riff, a rocking guitar riff. I shall conclude this rudimentary prose with less than twenty percent of the promised praise and this final phrase: Joe Munn is a bad ass m.c. and Bears enthusiast.
