Not only is it great to be out on the water, the scenery is pretty, too. (I’m not talking about Alan’s shirt. Nor his neck.)
Okay, then. Here’s a wheels-of-justice anecdote. Some years ago here I made passing notice of one of those talker lawsuits filed in Fort Wayne. It was filed by a man who claimed, to reduce many words to just a few, that a stripper broke his dick. Basically. He was in a strip club for his bachelor party, and the girls rigged a party gag where they had him lie down on stage straddling the pole. Two held him down while several others grabbed the pole and free-fell onto his groinal region.
His suit claimed this stunt caused him to miss the main event of his wedding night because his wee-wee was being held together with butterfly tape.
The unlucky groom himself wrote in response and in our exchange, he promised to give me an interview when the suit was final.
Well, how time does fly. He finally settled, and I no longer a) write a newspaper column; and b) live in Fort Wayne. Of course, neither does he.
And the point of the above anecdote was…? Hell if I know. I’ve been out in the sun all day, and my brain is addled.