"Well, I just don't remember sticking scissors

"Well, I just don't remember sticking scissors in the guy's eyes and gluing him to the side of a CSX freight train." He chuckled wistfully. "Man, but we did get up to some pranks

." But he was talking to himself again. At Dino's Bar and Grill. No one was listening, again. He'd been a professional nobody forever. To change that he kissed the woman sitting

at the end of the bar, and felt too late her foundation-concealed mustache and notices her formidable jaw. She asked me to dance. I asked her name, and in a dark brown voice she

asked for a short stack and a double shot of Southern Comfort. This was no ordinary lumberjill, this was the one for me! Her mustache was like

a kitten, soft and prone to tangling. Oh yes, she tickled my fancy alright, especially when she poured the syrup into my coffee and stirred creamer into my short stack. Just then

a vibration formed on the surface of my coffee. A semi pulled into the diner's parking lot. I saw the waitress pull her skirt up and adjust her brassiere before skating to the

trucker's table and taking his order. I watched his eyes track her until she slipped into the kitchen. There was familiarity there. And obvious desire. This could be my man.

his friend over, kicked me out and I hit the ground some speed, I guess I learned my lesson.

The lesson being never trust a pot-smoking douche-bag with a landlady, because you'll find yourself rapidly more obsolete than a disposable anal wipe.