If someone has a spare time machine, please contact me. Name your price. Money isn’t a problem.
I’ll gladly pay you—Tuesday. I just won’t say which Tuesday.
Come to think of it, I’ve probably already traveled back in time and paid you. So don’t delay…because you’re already late.
Too much sex. It’s a problem so many of us have…in our dreams.
Cheap sex is wasted on the young. They should pay for it like the rest of us.
In high school, I was small for a defensive lineman–even in those pre-steroid times.
To compensate, I tried to explode across the line of scrimmage and stay really low. So low that the opposing offensive lineman couldn’t block me.
(The amazing thing about this is not that it worked so often. It’s that I did anything quickly. I’ve spent my life recovering—in slow motion—from those bursts of speed.)
Eventually, my teammates started calling me “The Mole.”
Now, as high school nicknames go–that’s not bad. I could’ve been The Leach. Or The Slug. Or even The Festering Boil.
But probably not The Stud.
