Gentle Readers,
The WC used to hang out with a guy named Brad who, in my estimation, was incapable of fear. One might conclude after an evening spent with Brad (assuming you were still ambulatory) that he had guts (in spades). Or you might say that he had, ahem, cojones (Ca-hoe-ness). Make no mistake, there is actually a difference. Please make a note of it as follows:
GUTS: After a late night out with the guys you arrive home fully plowed. As you stagger through the front door you're assaulted by your wife with a broom. You then demand to know, Are you still cleaning? Or flying off somewhere for the night? That's guts.
COJONES: After a late night out with the guys you arrive home reeking of alcohol and perfume with lipstick on your collar and a ring of hickeys around your neck. Stumbling through the back door, you slap your wife on the backside and say: You're next, Babe. That's cojones.
As Ever,
The WC
tip of the glass to Chuck S who inspired this story with a forwarded email
