I Guess I Write Four Or Five

I'm Not A Writer's Writer. I'm Not A Craftsman. I Could Be, And That Would Be A One-book-a-year Operation.

Unfortunately, Every Time Someone Said “debriefing,” The Entire Flock Had One Image: Someone’s Tighty-whities Disappearing In A Flash. We Were Smothering Our Giggles, But It Was Getting Harder. Coupled With The Whole “naval This, And Naval That,” With Its Undeniable Belly-button Connotations, We Were Essentially Turning Into A Sugar-jacked, Sleep-deprived Flock Of Incoherent, Silly, Recombinant-dna Goofballs. This Was Not Going To End Well.

...drifting Downstream In A Row Boat Doesn't Count Against Your Life Span.

How Could You Stop Loving Me?

Be Calm. Be Zen. You Are Buddha.