True Story From the life of Bagster
Some years ago, I was in Fresno's second best mall, when I came across the kiosk of a foreign devil selling hats with whatever you wanted on them sewn on.
I says to the guy, guy? Make me a hat that says "F Obama." He takes my order and I continue to mall while he does his good work.
Upon my return to the haberdasher, he gives me a different kind of look. A rather quizzical look. A look that, had he been in his country, he might give to someone he thought may steal his goat.
I feared that someone with a firmer grasp on the English language had got to him. Maybe the Deep State.
He then asked me, "What does this mean, this F?" I, wanting to complete the purchase of this wonderful hat, and thinking quickly (which is what I do) said politely and with a kind smile, "Friend Obama."
This satisfied the curious raggedy man. I paid for my purchase and went on my way.
The Sequel
Some days later, proudly wearing my wonderful new hat, I found myself in what some people would call a "nudie" bar (researching for a sociology class. No, really.) A buxom employee of the establishment approached and advised me that she admired my awesome "F Obama" hat. We became friends. For a short time.
Epilogue
The hat hangs with it's brothers and sisters not ten feet from me at this very moment.
The end.
Bagster