Men in Tights

All is good – love October, the pumpkins, the playoffs, the hints of cashmere in the trees.

Finally, a Feast

Sportswriters get no respect, especially from each other. They don’t trust nobody. But they are often a paper’s biggest stars.

My two daughters now live 4 doors apart. Posh would like that.

Marriage is funny. Not a lot of laughs, yet funny still. I miss sharing things with someone.

One friend suggested pairing the carrot cupcakes with a nice inky Zin.

Enough about sex. Had some bad experiences myself – four kids – and a wife who wouldn’t forgive me, because I was never all that limber or generous.

So, I said, “What the puck” and tossed the two 5-cent packages of salmon in my grocery buggy, with the carrots and the beer.

We need football now more than ever, to counteract our psychic arrythmias and other mental malfunctions.

I don’t care for Trevor Noah. So? Nothing personal, I just can’t stand the impish idiot. Or John Oliver either.

I hate Helvetica type. I hate boneless chicken wings. And most of all, I hate Zoom.