Red, I believe that having sex with or making up with Texmaster, or whatever it is you two did in yonder bushes in the unlit parking lot of the No Yell, No Tell, Oh Well, Frozen Hell Motel conveniently located on the ATOT bypass just North of Nowhere has affected your brain chemistry in a seriously pathological way. Sex with the son of poultry, Mike, it never comes to any good . . . -- joking, Red, I'm just joking!!
When my Mom was dying back in '83, and I was down in Clearwater, Fla. gutting it out with my Dad, and we took our first break after two weeks straight in the hospital, I took my Dad to see The Meaning Of Life 'cause I KNEW the fuming, straight laced Church of England guy who lived accross from the "every sperm is sacred" Catholics would make him laugh -- "Why can't they wear a little rubber thingy on their John Thomas? Because they never made that LEAP out of the Dark Ages!" "But I, I can go down to the Apothecary any time I want and say in a strong, clear voice, John, give me a French Tickler, no, make that two, because I am a Prostestant, and fiercely proud of it!" -- and it WORKED, my Dad laughed.
For that alone, I am forever grateful.