I Might Be Crazy, But I Am Not A Dolphin.
If your opponent [in candy trading] says they like [Hershey's] Special Darks, be kind to them: they are probably going to be your boss someday.
Due to a tragic misunderstanding, the prettiest pig beauty pageant has been replaced by a pork rib barbeque competition.
Like a hydro-electric Mothra rising from the ashes of an African village burned to the ground by post-rock minotaurs, the music of Delicate Steve will literally make you the happiest person who has never lived.
I am relatively indifferent to Steve Marion's music, but such a glorious description deserves recognition.
What does it say about humans that when poor displaced sharks are ravaged by nature’s uncaring fury we try to kill them with chainsaws? I think we need to take a good long look in the mirror over that one.
Frank Deford called me at The Washington Post. He wanted to have lunch. We went to Rusty Staub’s, in New York. Frank is striking. I realized the first time I met him how tall he is, how debonair. He is like the Clark Gable of sports writing. Plus, he is the greatest feature sports writer in history, and he just looks immaculate. He had barbecue ribs. I have had barbecue ribs five hundred times in my life. He did not get a drip of sauce anywhere on his face, suit, tie. The guy is carved out of stone. I do not even know how he ate the ribs. He was like a god. He did not even need a napkin.
< Message edited by liamliam1234liam -- 6/19/2019 0:37:50 >