Cattle Bones
Large cattle pelvic bone, some spine, etc. Tired of them lying around. Call first, no texts.
Darn cattle bones, just lying around. Get a JOB, ya calcified hippies!
(Thanks Jason!)
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Bum steer.
You can tell the bones came from a male bovine.
Anagram this.
Pecil!
No Windy spies on me.
Oops!
I mean, No Windy, “Spies On Me”.
Pelvic bone connected to the spine bone.
Spine bone connected to the ….
Um….
Well, what do you want? They’re free, aren’t they?
I’ve got a bone to pick.
Hang on to them.
Pile them up.
Call them Pile o’ Bones and found a city on the site.
The city of Regina, Saskatchewan was founded on the site of a location the First Nations people called Pile o’ Bones, which was indeed a pile of bones.
Oh sorry, those were buffalo bones. Move along. Nothing to see here.
Dem bones, dem doggone cow bones . . .
Sparky wants to give someone his bone?
Remember the “..all hat, no cattle” post??? Well…..found ’em…..
I’ll take ’em! I’m tired of all my boneless cattle lying around.
That’s bull!
I suppose you’ve forgotten my story of my boneless puppy that grew up to become my boneless cattle dog?
I’m thinking those vertebrae would make a nice bedazzled coat rack for a teenage daughter.
Talk about lazy. Ol’ Bessie gets sick. Sparky does nothing. Sparky’s wife pleads to call vet to tend to Bess. Sparky does nothing. Ol’ Bessie sadly up and dies. In the front yard. Sparky does nothing. Wife nags Sparky to haul decaying cow away. Sparky does nothing. Wife nags Sparky to shoo away vultures, coyotes, and shiftless goth kids from decaying Bess. Sparky does nothing. Wife threatens to leave unless rotting gut pile is removed. Sparky does nothing. Wife leaves. Sparky watches Ol’ Bess rot some more. One day while walking across the lawn to check the mail, Sparky stubs his toe on the sun-bleached, calcified skull. Finally he decides to get rid of the bones, but how? How does the laziest of the lazy get rid of sun-bleached cattle bones strewn around his yard? Why, Craigslist, of course!
Sparky should have never built his house in the middle of a cattle graveyard.
If those bones are moved, bad things will happen.
I see by your outfit….
What kind of job would calcified bovine bones have? They, obviously, aren’t mooovers.
Let Bones Act.
(I need to stop this anagramming.)