Now would be a terrible time for me to go to prison. Avtually, I can't think of a *great* time to go to prison... but I digress. With the cold weather and the wind, my lips are a little chapped and bright red; I'm afraid the last thing that I would hear at night would be "you sure do have a pretty mouth, boy..."
And In Other News: My mother, freshly back from Hawaii, told me her stereo wasn't working, and so she needed to take it to Hooters. 'Hooters?', I asked? "Something like that", she replied. , Puh-Tay-Toe, Puh-Tah-Toe; Hoo-ters, Twee-ters.