Sex Olympics
Below is the original romance art…
years of training wasted! sex
isn’t an Olympic event!
Inked by Dick Giordano
Color by Allen Freeman
Below is the original romance art…
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.
Don’t throw curve ball, puny pitcher! Or Hulk smash!
This one’s for my wife Shelagh whose two favorite things (besides me) are baseball and Dancing with the Stars.
When you get down to it, isn’t baseball a metaphor for darn near everything?
(Now funny in German too.)