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.

Follow the Sun

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

In some cultures, a praying mantis is a sign that angels are watching over you.

At college dropoffs, dads cry worse than moms. Probably because we’re more in touch with our feelings.