Mmm-hmm. Older dude has sleeveless-top-woman just where he wants her. Or vice versa. It's all over my head. Or at least I pretend it is. Same difference. Or not. For I am an individual of deep contradictions. I am an enigma wrapped in a condom, cloaked in mystery, if mystery can be shallow. A sleeveless cloak, as it were. "As it were", there's a -- oh, never mind. World's Oldest Child Prodigy, that's me. A compliment wrapped in an insult. W

I started that last sentence with a "W", and was distracted by something or other, and now don't have the slightest idea what I was going to say. Creeping senility. Hardening of the arteries. Which would account for the crackling, twig-snapping sound I make when I move around. Sometimes I suspect my blood is not moving around like it should. But I guess that would mean that, technically, I'm dead. How would I know? Remember "Jacob's Ladder"? One of the spookiest movies I've ever seen. Uh-oh, here comes the nurse. Let's see if I can squeeze out a BM.

-- Sparky "Why Can't I Converse Like An Adult?" Donatello