Tolliver's Body Shop

I walked from Orange Street to Tolliver's Body Shop and back a little past lunchtime today in 46:28, with about a ten-minute, air-conditioned interval as Mr. Tolliver explained to me when the fuck my Crown Vic will have its paintwork done (he promised I would have it no later than a week from Frida, which will make five weeks and two days since I dropped it off).

QUESTION OF THE DAY
Over the course of their 230 years in office, did the previous forty-four U.S. presidents combined use the word "nasty" in public as often as President Trump has since he was inaugurated two years and seven months ago?

OVERHEARD
"GET OUT OF MY YARD! GET OUT OF MY YARD! GET OUT OF MY YARD YOU GODAMN MOTHERFUCER!"
—Tom Zarlingo from his front porch, across the street and three houses north of Pete's house on Orange Street, in a last-ditch effort to qualify for admission to the University of Michigan on the grounds of cultural diversity. He somehow believes its definition of such is subject to the literal interpretation