Honey, I Plan To Marry You The

Sometimes I Think If I Had To Choose Between An Ear Of Corn Or Making Love To A Woman, I'd Choose The Corn.

Although, Pretending Not To Notice Is Almost Worse Than Noticing.

I Used To Think I Preferred Getting Old To The Alternative, But Now I'm Not Sure. Sometimes The Momotony Of Bingo And Sing-alongs And Ancient Dusty People Parked In The Hallway In Wheelchairs Makes Me Long For Death. Particularly When I Rememver That I'm One Of The Ancient Dusty People, Filed Away Like Some Worthless Tchotchke.

Sometimes I Think That If I Had To Choose Between An Ear Of Corn Or Making Love To A Woman, I'd Choose The Corn. Not That I Wouldn't Love To Have A Final Roll In The Hay - I Am A Man Yet, And Something Never Die - But The Thought Of Those Sweet Kernels Bursting Between My Teeth Sure Sets My Mouth To Watering. It's Fantasy, I Know That. Neither Will Happen. I Just Like To Weight The Options, As Though I Were Standing In Front Of Solomon: A Final Roll In The Hay Or An Ear Of Corn. What A Wonderful Dilemma. Sometimes I Substitute An Apple For The Corn.

Then I Lie Down On The Horse Blanket And Drift Into A Dream About Marlena That Will Probably Cost Me My Soul.