The wisdom of Captain Jack Sparrow...We come home from my younger brothers' surprise 30th birthday party (Yikes!) when Rich turns to me and says, "I have a surprise for you. It's out in the garage."
A surprise? For moi?! I pictured a rototiller for my beautiful flower beds. He'd sprung for the Mantis brand! No, wait--it was a composter! Something I could throw all my scraps in and make lovely piles of compost! Or, wait--could it be a new riding mower? How could we afford that! Perhaps it was an electric riding mower! We'd gone green in all three major lawn-care appliances! I foraged for some clues...
Me: Is it smaller or larger than a bread box? Rich: Larger. Me: Gas, electric, or man-powered? Rich: Hmm... Could go either gas or man-powered... Me:(???) Umm... Is it used outdoors or in? Rich: Out. Me: Have I ever asked for one? Rich: No. Me:(Ooh! Complete surprise!) I see... Is it a color? Rich: Yes... Me: Will it stay in the garage? Rich: Definitely not... Me: Oh! What is it! What is it?! Rich: Well, let's go and see!
Merriment danced in his eyes as we traveled the yard back to the garage. We walked around to the back side and I peaked... At something large and blue...
Large and blue? Oh, it has a handle... Is that a handle? I stared at the two-foot by two-foot blue square for quite some time. Admittedly, it was much larger that that small square of a window, but I was greatly enjoying the suspense.
"Well? Open the door!" So I reached down, whipped open Door #1 and...
Me: What... What is it? (in my defense, the item was up-side-down...) Rich: You don't know? Me: A... A boat? Rich: A row boat! And it came with oars! Me: A... A boat... Rich: Do you like it? We can go fishing on the lakes, canoing with your parents... Me: A boat... Rich: ... and when we go camping we can bring it along... We'll need fishing licenses... Me: A boat... Rich: ... but it didn't come with life jackets, so we'll need to stop at Cabela's to pick those up when we get life vests... Me: A... I'm sorry, what? Rich: ... I said, and we can get a motor for it, so we don't have to row all the time... Me: Uh-huh... Rich: ... and it needs a name. Me: A name? All ten feet of it? Or just the part where we'll be sitting? Rich: It's 14 feet. Me: Uh-huh... Rich: Oh... You don't like it, do you? Me: No-no-no-no-no, it's not that I don't like it, it's just--well, you have to admit, it's very unexpected. Rich: No, no, you don't like it! Me: No, I do, I do! It's just a surprise is all! I never expected... Well, a boat! It's a boat. We have... a boat. Rich: So... you aren't mad? Me: Why would I be mad? Rich: I bought a boat! Me: How much did you spend... Rich: And it came with oars! Me: How much? Rich: And it was cheaper than the canoe we got your parents... Me: It was? Rich: Yep! (Beaming again...) Me: Well, then, why would I be mad? We... have... a boat... Rich: You need to name her. Me: I need to name him! Rich: Oh... Me: It's blue, isn't it? Rich: Er... yes... Me: And my car, the riding mower, and the computer are all already named Betsy... Rich: They are? Me: Yes, they are... So... A name, a name, a name... We have a frickin' boat. Rich: You hate it. I knew it! Me: I'm shocked is all! Rich: Promise? Me: Pinkie swear.
So I've made peace with this unexpected turn of events. I realize, of course, this surprise really wasn't for me, but that's all right. Rich doesn't buy himself many things, and I'm glad he's found something that will give him some nice get-away time (even though I know I'm getting roped into it...) I'll have to learn to like fishing... And hooking worms...
We have decided on a name, however: The AnTi-tanic. So small even God couldn't sink it! I suppose I shouldn't make fun. After all, it's in great shape, it came with oars as Rich was way too pleased to point out, and we are surrounded by more lakes and rivers than your average landlubber...
I'm still a bit shocked, though...
We have a frickin' boat...
Captain Sao Feng: All men are drawn to the sea, perilous though it may be.
I wonder if this is hubbie's midlife crisis? It's a tad early, but...
It was with nothing short of ghastly horror that I read over at Paige's Blog that she, too, was having Nubbin' issues... Nothing quite steals one's thunder as having a total stranger proclaim just a few days earlier than you that she'd had her potential cancer removed one week before oneself did... The only conclusion I can come to is that she's my Jewish twin sister from another mother...But indeed, I had a nubbin' of my own--not under my breasts like Paige, but right out there for all the world to see, on my left cheek. (You can even see it in the profile pic if you look at the enlarged view... Creepy...)
It had been there for as long as I can remember, as Freddie the Freckle. Along the way he turned into Maurice the Mole. My nephew Devin had great fun last time he was over, sitting beside me watching a movie, and every five seconds poking his finger on it and saying, "Waz that, Sason?" Then at some point last year, it turned into a symptom of the Black Plague. Never having been a fan of the Black Plague myself (although I hear hundreds heeded it's siren song in the past...), I decided to have my hot doctor look at it.
Having made an appointment with hot doc (I actually have a whole team of docs right in Whitehall, but when I can, I request him... He tickles my fanny--No, no, FANCY, he tickles my FANCY!...) He looks at it, asks the usual "Does it hurt?" "What's it doing?" "Are you doing anything Saturday night?" Okay, that last one was just in my head, but you know the drill. After all that hoopla, he suggests I see a plastic surgeon.
Having never been to a plastic surgeon before, I wasn't sure what to expect--would there be varied sizes of breasts set up everywhere for comparisons' sake? A wall of noses labeled with the celebrity from whom they had been stolen? A parade of naked models wandering around with hors d'ourves trays?
I left work early so I could make it to the four o'clock appointment with plenty of time to spare, and following my Yahoo! Map directions faithfully, I pulled up to what could only be described as a mansion. The sign out front very clearly said "Dr. Edward Salgado," so I knew I was at the right place, but holy crap! I questioned whether I should even bother going in--what are the odds that my podunk crappy-ass insurance would cover this? Look at where I'm getting treated! Surely if this place had busts around, they would be tastefully placed in bronze casts and not nakedly wandering about serving pigs in a blanket...
I entered through the marked door and was assaulted by tacky well-to-do-ness. Leather couches, Windsor chairs, mahogany tables, prints and paintings. Across the large foyer was a receptionists' desk, so I wandered the 6,000 yards over, passing at least five hundred old people and one woman who looked like she wanted to be thirty but was plainly in her fifties.
Receptionist: And your name? Me: Jason Hughes, I have a four o'clock?
She winced. I looked at my hands to make sure I wasn't holding a gun, saber, or anything else remotely wince-like in nature.
Receptionist: There's no need to shout, sir. Please have a seat, we'll be with you shortly. Me: Shouting? I'm not... I'm not shouting.
She winced regardless.
Clearly this was hoity-toity neighborhood. I would have to hide my red-neck roots well here. Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, I pick up a People magazine and pretend to be interested in Jennifer Aniston's love life while the grandmother in cheap whore's clothing eye's me up and tries winking at me through a haze of Botox, eye shadow placed on with a nail gun, and wrinkle-less porcelain skin...
Receptionist: Jason? Please follow me...
Through giant cherry-stained French doors I follow her back a long hallway with more paintings, tables, and (surprise, surprise!) a bust--but of an old dude, not some Pamela Anderson-cleavage mold.
I'm placed in a room which disappointingly doesn't look like the Hilton. I was expecting a jacuzzi at least, but it's the normal table with paper sheeting. I get all those questions again ("Any allergies?" "Does it hurt?" "Did Hot Doc ask you out?") and then I'm left to my own devices for another 45 minutes, which I use to open cabinets, look under the sink, steal a few Q-tips. I eventually give in to boredom and start playing Bejeweled on my cell when in walks not a hot Latino doctor named Salgado, but a short little old man. Nip/Tuck this wasn't.
Chart in hand, he proceeds to ask me... All the same questions! "Does it hurt?" Did the nurse not write down these answers? Or did you manage to get through med school without knowing how to read? I want to shout. However, I play his little game until I answer, "Well, sometimes it bleeds..."
Suddenly I hear a gasp. I look up from the interesting spot I had found in the carpet to see the doctor coming straight at me with a needle!
Me: Whoa-ho there doc! What are you doing? Dr. S: What--are you allergic to Novocaine? Me: Um, first, no, I'm not, and secondly, I'd like to be warned before you start jabbing me, and third, what's the Novocaine for? Dr. S: We have to get that thing off and into the lab! This could be serious! (He turns to an intercom, needle still in hand) I'm going to need a nurse in Room 5. (Back to me.) This may pinch a bit.
It did. More than a bit. The doctor left to give the Novocaine time to work it's magic, and it was pleasingly numb soon enough, drool starting dripping through my lips on the left side. Soon I was beginning to drift off, staring back at the interesting spot on the floor again when the door to Room 5 flew open and I see the doctor charging at me, this time with a scalpel!
Me: Doc, you gotta stop doing that! Dr. S: What? Me: Didn't your mother ever tell you not to run with scissors? Nurse:(Giggles) Dr. S: I'm sorry, Mr... (looks at chart) Mr. Hughes, but we must have that thing removed and sent to the lab! Lay down please.
It took all of five seconds, and I didn't feel a blessed thing. In fact, I was quite surprised when he told me I could sit up and placed a cup in my hand. I looked dubiously into it.
Me: That's it? Dr. S: That's it. We'll call you in seven to ten days with the results. Me: From the lab? Dr. S: Er, yes, we'll call with the results from the lab.
Pretty soon I'm a free man again, a little warier of doctors who belong in Beverly Hills, but nubbin' free for the first time I can remember in a long time. It's only been five days (no lab results yet), but I can picture the crazy bastard in something resembling a Bat Cave, pouring strange liquids into beakers, creating an army of Nubbin' to run around with...
In other news, I got cruised at the Turkey Hill the following morning... Nothin' says lovin' like the removal of a nubbin'. Life is good again.
A woman Wednesday sued a Miami hospital that last year refused to allow her to see her critically ill partner of 18 years because they were not considered family.
Janice Langbehn and Lisa Pond of Lacey, Wash., had planned to take their three children on a family cruise departing from Miami, but just as they were about to embark, Pond, 39, collapsed with a brain aneurysm, according to Lambda Legal, which is handling the case.
Pond was rushed to Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami, where, except for one five-minute visit, neither Langbehn nor the children were allowed to see Pond until nearly eight hours after their arrival.
This neglect persisted even after a friend back home faxed documents indicating that Pond had given Langbehn authority to carry out medical decisions, according to St. Petersburg Pride, which named Langbehn its 2008 Pride marshal "to put a personal face on the consequences" of the proposed Florida constitutional marriage ban on November's ballot.
Langbehn's suit also claims that the state and the Dade County medical examiner denied her access to Pond's death certificate, which she needed to get life insurance and Social Security benefits for their children. (The Advocate)
You see, dear reader, we don't want marriage because we're lost lil puppy dogs looking for "acceptance" or "sanctioned existence." Fuck acceptance.
You know what good a "civil union" is when you're traveling abroad? Crap. Just as it's crap here in the United States.
"I think he's [Obama is] deliberately distorting the traditional understanding of the Bible to fit his own worldview, his own confused theology," Dobson said. "He is dragging biblical understanding through the gutter."
Not that Dobson could ever be accused of doing that, right? It's not as if every single bible-believing individual in the entire world hasn't viewed the bible through their own personal worldview... Perish the thought!
8 days. 8 days, ladies and gentlemen, of taking cold showers on mornings where the outside temperature was only 50° Fahrenheit (for those living in Celsius countries, 10°...) One day longer than it took sky daddy to create a world that lacked running hot water... (And Genesis claims this creation was perfect?!)
You see, on that so auspicious of dates, Friday the 13th, when most people were calling off work so a black cat couldn't possibly cross their path; avoiding cracks in the sidewalks because they love their grandmothers; and overall acting as if there were some malignant force in the universe out to get them (ego much?), we ran out of oil. Oil, mind you, that was used solely for hot water... (See here for how we ended up no longer using it to heat the home... If you care...)
Hot water, mind you, is the most precious commodity in my life (next to food, ice tea, oxygen, and Moulin Rogue on DVD...)
So for the last eight days, it's been a personal race to see how fast a shower could possibly be... 30 seconds it seems, if you are very generous with the soap and very careless with then removing all those soapy bits off you.
Mind you, being as even if it were 90° F (32.22222222222222° Celsius), I would still be taking a hot shower. That's just how I role. Others seem to think a cold shower is refreshing and need not be exactly a hurried process so much as an opportunity to wake up before work... I claim that's what coffee is for, but what could I possibly know, right?
But today, my awesome brother-in-law of an electrician, and my father, Grand Poombah of all thing plumbing related, helped me hook up my new electric hot water box! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, weighing exactly ten pounds, only two inches deep, and length- and width-wise smaller than a pizza box, not only was it half the price of a minimum delivery of oil (150 gallons oil = $900), if you are as fortunate as I to have family that paid tons of money for a special skill in high demand, you have the added bonus of avoiding paying an electrician and a plumber for their time... (you just have to feed them a steak dinner from the grill...)
Well worth it.
I pretty much kicked them out when they were done and spent the next hour under running hot water...
Ahhhh.....
Mind you, I now have to run back to Home Depot and return the how-many-feet of copper pipe I didn't need to buy in order to make my hot-water dreams come true (remember, that wasn't the high-demand skill I went to school for...), but that's just icing on the cake--I now am getting a "refund" from Home Depot and hence spent even less than I thought I had to (which, even if I would have had to use all that stinkin' pipe, was still cheaper then the $900 for a minimum of oil that only would have lasted six months...)
Suddenly the world does seem such a perfect place...
It's been a three weeks now since the television has been turned off.
No, we didn't do it because we thought poor Hawthorne's morals were being corrupted. Images of him moving into the big city of Allentown and stealing cars, chasing down hookers, as well as violating speed laws never crossed our minds. Although he too enjoyed the shows on PBS (Wild Discovery always made him growl at the lions or wanna play with the hyena's...), it also wasn't that we feared a rerun of Cujo bringing out his inner-Saint Bernard to wreak havoc on our quiet country life.
It was just time.
I'm not sure what I imagined it would be like. Images of me hitting it with a sledge hammer in the hopes of getting an antenna signal for a glimpse of something pretty crossed my mind, as did thoughts of Richard screaming "PLEASE can we get CABLE again!!!!" as he suffered withdraw from endless Little House on the Prairie episodes (definitely not something I'm missing, mind you!).
But it was the thing that filled the empty voids, you know? Those times when you came home from work and just wanted something mindless to do to unwind, or those Saturdays when you couldn't mow due to lightning storms, or those long, lonely winter days when all you had to entertain you was a piece of string and a wish for spring...
But you know what? A little weeding is just as therapeutic. A little cleaning, a little straightening up, reading a great book, or even drawing and painting--all wonderful ways to fill up that time you thought you should be watching Malcolm in the Middle on syndication...
Have there been moments? Sure... Picture me salivating as a friend describes what happened last night on Medium, or surfing the web at lunch for just a glimpse of Matthew Fox's hot 5-o'clock shadow...
But we survive, don't we? Of course, let's not forget we didn't drop NetFlix, nor did we disconnect the television from the DVD player or VCR (how many of you under-twenty-somethings just went, "What's a VCR?") so we can rewatch some of the old favorites that we have yet to sell on eBay...
Be that as it may, though, it is wonderfully freeing. Granted, our cable provider didn't believe we weren't going with some other competitor. She was sure we just didn't want to tell her who we chose to get our "television needs" through (her phrase!), and tried several sales tactics in order to try to get us to keep the mindless color box hooked up to the line...
Alas, three weeks and absolutely loving it...
Although, if you don't mind, you could fill me in on who the Mole ends up being... If you were so inclined...
In these modern times when one no longer needs a reunion to get in touch with those from our formative years, both the blessings and the curses come roaring to the front lines.
When I think back on my college years, it is a chimera of both the happiest times and the worst nightmares of my being. Surrounded by those who were both my dearest friends, but would politically and spiritually be my enemies if they had ever known the real me (which, even then, I didn't like to admit to myself who the real me was...)
As I get reacquainted with those from the ABC (Appalachian Bible College) days, it is glaringly obvious those who furthered their exploration of the world at large and who decided that the bubble they created in those years was just the way to go for the rest of their lives.
Please, dear reader, I do not mean that as unkindly as it sounds. Indeed, we all make "bubbles" of reality, deny those things which call into question the very life and reality we hold so dear and feel is so important so as to keep what anyone else would think is no big deal at bay...
Back in those days, we all thought we knew who we were. At college, you are living independently for the first time usually. No mother to wake you up when you ignore the alarm, no one to cook your meals, do your laundry, drive you to wherever you need to be... Granted, ABC made sure that you learned just enough to get around, but not enough to form a compete world view. Between the rules about music, movies, dating, socializing, eating, drinking, praying, worshiping, studying what to read and when... The microcosm of ABC would be stifling to anyone who wanted to use their neurons for more than just praising a deity...
Sigh...
The other shoe will drop, and I know some of them will cut me off, which is fine in a way, I suppose. After all, if I haven't spoken to them in 12+ years, what is truly the loss? Memories mostly, and the rosy view of remembering them a certain way (or they remembering me a certain way as well...) Much as when you bury a loved one in reality, the proverbial glass slipper will create a wall that most likely cannot be breached by certain persons...
Sure, some of my fellow ABCers have been here (and I in turn have visited and commented on their blogs), and it's been nice catching up and seeing where they are and what they're doing.... But I'm wondering how many of them have conveniently ignored those "About Me"s on the other blogs, ignored the headlines that tell of what goes on in my life, all in the spirit of keeping that bubble intact--even if that bubble would stay intact, just shoving me out of it into the water of their reality...
Is it that they are just picking and choosing their battles? Perhaps--we all do that from time to time. Sometimes there's nothing to be gained by pointing out where two people no longer agree, but sometimes there's the potential for growth on both ends of the spectrum of reality.
I'm hoping for growth--more patience from myself for those who I feel have given up on a love of knowledge, and more open-mindedness and tolerance from them, and a realization that just because they believe a certain way doesn't necessarily mean everyone should live that way...
Have you had a similar experience, dear reader, when a friend from the past brought back a world which collided potentially violently with your own?
Free-will. Self-determination. Choosing what you want to be when you grow up. Our whole society is geared toward freedom, rewarding hard work, of making sure everyone knows that their life is what they make of it and nothing--not one thing--can stand in the way of you getting what you want here in the United States...
In my personal experience, I don't think I've ever encountered a homosexual that didn't choose that lifestyle (by their own admission) before coming to the conclusion that they were born that way.
I'll just say jimmybob has pretty eyes and refrain from making jokes about what a name like "jimmybob" brings to mind (although I'm suddenly hungry for southern fried chicken...)
It's grates really hard that some things are very much beyond our own control (perhaps speaking to the psychological need for a god-figure in the minds of many). Barring "acts of god" like tornadoes, earthquakes, hurricanes, and such, there are other things like hair color, eye color, skin color, predispositions to genetic diseases... This list could actually go on for quite some time, but another one to add to the list would be "homosexuality."
Now, don't read TOO much into that--I'm sure there is a fair share of people in the world who actually choose to be attracted to the same- or opposite-sex. No, I'm actually talking about those in the world like me--born-and-bred, dyed-in-the-wool homosexuals who had little say in what their body was telling them they needed. Much like food, water, oxygen, and endless reruns of Mama's Family, there are just some things your body won't let you do without, some physical, some psychological, and all necessary if you like life to go on for yourself as an individual...
I was in the self-loathing boat for years! It affected friendships, family-ships--not to mention that 3-hour tour? Ruined. Seriously, I was drowning in a sea of despair, crafted by ill-held beliefs instilled into me from childhood on. Every time I tried to run from it, I only became a more miserable person. I know I've told you all about this before, dear reader, so we'll forgo the primrose path of Suicide Alley and simply point out what jimmybob seems to think is some type of hypocrisy, or at the very least a contradiction...
Make no mistake, I was both born gay and chose to be gay, although these did not come as a package deal and the free set of Ginsu knives was lost by the postal service. There wasn't a time in my life that I didn't know I wasn't like my brothers, irregardless of what I thought was their reckless abandonment of personal safety as they forged through the deepest parts of the woods behind our house, tackled each other in games of football, and wrestled each other for control of the Nintendo controller--all of which I engaged in, although my heart wasn't in it (which explains why I always sucked at the endeavors...)
However, I paraded on and (insert long story here: __________________), the long and short of it is, not only was I born a homosexual (or, if you prefer to think there's some merit to the pseudo-science of conversion therapy, I was born with a predisposition to homosexuality), I chose to embrace this part of myself, not only for my own mental and physical well-being, but so that I could thrive as a person and become who I am today--the not-so-wealthiest-man-on-earth with the best husband in the world. I both was born, and I also chose.
I can't say this pertains to all homosexuals (much like my mother couldn't possible speak for all the hetero's in the world longing for a Straight-Pride Parade), but I know it most likely resonates with a lot of them. The decision to come out wasn't necessarily something to do for shits and giggles as much as it was for my life. Could I have survived? Perhaps, although I doubt it. But I could never have thrived living life as a straight man, and not only would I have suffered, the woman I would have ended up marrying, and any children that may have resulted from such a mismatch would have suffered even more (and not only because I would have been the better-dressed of the married pair...).
Having made the choice to be honest with myself and with others has allowed me to thrive and grow in more ways than I could have imagined, and I know I am better for it. You may not agree, of course, as is your "right" to do so, but before you hop on the anti-gay band wagon and proclaim "another sin celebrated by world without god," I ask of you only this: Have you walked a mile in my shoes? I know I've tried walking in yours, and it left me sore with blisters, infection, and weariness in my bones... All I ask is now that you try on mine...
Right after you get treated for that case of athlete's foot you're so proud of...
Random Christian: "All things are possible with God!"
Of course, the hard part is keeping a straight face...
It's actually very easy to disprove an all-powerful god--the hard part is convincing the believer that this is exactly what you have done. "Can god create a rock too heavy for himself to lift?" Either way, YES or NO, we've proven he isn't all-powerful...
Of course, many a believer will dismiss this as ridiculous logic (as if the belief in god itself weren't so much...)
ROGER RABBIT: Well, Mr. Smarty-Pants Detective, your logic is specious. What prevented Mr. Acme from putting the will back in the safe before they killed him? VALIANT: Because he's not forty feet tall. The safe was up on the ceiling, remember?
Careful! Don't make too much sense, you may end up looking logical! Indeed, it should not be necessary for an all-powerful, all-knowing god to hide behind a Wizard of Oz curtain (complete with flames). It also shouldn't take a disconnect from reality to realize a foolish position about life, the universe, and everything... But for some reason, it does...
Blanche [to her daughter Janet, who doubts God's existence]: Oh honey, of course He exists. Just look at the beautiful sky, the majestic trees. God created man, and gave him a heart, and a mind, and thighs that could crack walnuts.
The really big catch is this: If it is such an impossibility that we evolved (but not such an impossibility that someone living in the clouds just got lonely and needed someone to punish), who created god? Apparently he's so much more designed than we are... God must therefore have a creator himself! (again, the pooh-poohing from the fundie without any type of explanation for using their own logic against them...)
Apparently we're all supposed to play scarecrow, abandoning all logic, thought, and reason in order to go to church on Sundays and praise a non-created creator because we're just too darn pretty to have been related to chimps...
Cowardly Lion: Oh, I do believe in spooks, I do believe in spooks, I do, I do, I do, I DO believe in spooks!
Sigh. What do you think it will take to get everyone to realize that god isn't the creator, but that he is the created? That we aren't made "in his image," but he in ours?
They like to say that all it takes is faith... So what is it that leads some to accept blind faith, and others to recognize it for what it is?
Grace: Oh, he's very popular Ed. The sportos, the motorheads, geeks, sluts, bloods, waistoids, dweebies, dickheads - they all adore him. They think he's a righteous dude.
Well, at least we know one thing--once you know it's only a man behind the curtain, there isn't much left to hold you back from recognizing the rest of the untruths a lot of us hold so dear...
Dorothy: Oh come on, Ma, that's superstitious nonsense. You know, step on a crack, break your mother's back, it doesn't work. — I know.
We should all know by now... Yet we seem to be stuck in some never-ending loop, the only thing changing is the outfit we place on our magnetic refrigerator Jesus... In the year zero, we liked him this way... In the Dark Ages, we liked him this way, unless you were on that part of the globe, and you liked him that way and called him Ganesha...
Some reruns are worth watching, but most? And with the same-old, same-old plot? Yawn.
We should all know by now... Yet we don't. We pull the curtains a bit tighter, we wipe away any fingerprints, we tell each other not to believe our senses, but to see whatever we want to see, just to keep that faith, that intangible, unproven, ill-thought-out, blinder-than-Stevie-Wonder faith...
And why? We like to feel special, I suppose...
GIRLS: Oh, he's special all right... Especially ugly... OLIVE OYL: He's tall... Good-lookin'... And he's large... And he's mine... GIRLS: She can have him...
Should we let them keep him? Much like we let the Amish? (but only mostly because the Amish aren't trying to tell everyone else what to do, how to act, what to wear, or who to sleep with...?)
