Last night, on Turner Classic Movies, they showed “The Mouse that Roared” (1959) with Peter Sellers. It was truly unwatchable. Just awful. I bailed after 20 minutes.
So what to do with my Saturday night? I could brush the dog, or read a book, or paint a closet, or clean up the garage, or discover a cure for cancer, or work on my time machine, or I could do any number of possible things, same as anybody else.
But here’s what I actually did. I got myself a little glass of brandy, and I found myself a comfy chair in a darkened room, and I sat myself down and I put my feet up and I closed my eyes.
And then I went to the cashier's window and I bought myself a ticket for a ride on the imagination train. It pulls up to the platform, the conductor gives me a smile and and I hop on board.
Jessica Simpson has a nice penis and she’s using it on Tiger Woods, who has a vagina and a nice set of jugs. They’re doing it doggie-style and having a wonderful time of it.
And everyone gets off at the next station.