When the boyfriend found the skid marks on

When the boyfriend found the skid marks on his girl's lingerie he was overcome with a deluge of

jokes involving metaphorical comparisons to 747's and other large-tired, skid mark-leaving transports. Oddly, his girlfriend's skid marks were on the boob part of her lingerie.

He pondered for a long time how that was possible before finally confronting her about it. "How dare you! My boobs are beautiful!" He didn't know what to say, how does one say

that his own man boobs are better than his girlfriend's? He needed to do it subtly. "Hey honey, do you remember the time I was voted Man Boobs of the year?, does that mean anything

to you at all?" After all, man boobs (the really good ones) are just like real boobs, except with the added bonus of hair and a reduced chance of lactation. "Damn it, Janet,

can it!" (Every time she spoke like that, boobie tangents were taken.) "Hells fire and brimstone, woman, breathe and have yourself something relaxing like a-" SMACK!

Yum, Smacks. Nobody'd seen that frog in ages. She took the advice of the 17th-century bicycle repairman and had a big bowl of Sugar Smacks. But did she really feel more relaxed?

Maybe a different relaxing technique would work better than loading up on carbs and sugar? She sought out the most relaxed people she knew, Zen Buddhist monks. No worries,

his giant Freudian cigar. There would be time enough for looking for signs, for the moment there was a plot they needed to concern themselves with. Unfortunately, she had lost it.