When I Was Painting, I Was Painting

Grandma Mazur Stood Two Feet Back From My Mother. "i Gotta Get Me A Pair If Those," She Said, Eyeballing My Shorts. "i've Still Got Pretty Good Legs, You Know." She Raised Her Skirt And Looked Down At Her Knees. "what Do You Think? You Think I'd Look Good In Them Biker Things?" Grandma Mazur Had Knees Like Doorknobs.

It Was Dark And Raining, With Bad Visibility, But This Was Jersey, And We Don't Slow Down For Anything.

Ranger Smiled. 'you Want Me To Be Superman? Spend The Night With Me.

He’s Sort Of A Homeless Horse,” I Said. “i’m Leaving For The Airport In Two Seconds, And I Won’t Be Back For A Couple Days. You Can Put The Horse In The Garage, But I Don’t Want That Horse In My Apartment.” “who Would Put A Horse In An Apartment? That’s Dumb.” “where’s The Horse Staying Now?” “my Apartment.” “i Can Always Count On You To Brighten My Day,” Ranger Said. And He Disconnected.

Adaptation Is One Of The Great Advantages To Being Born And Bred In Jersey. We're Simply Not Bested By Bad Air Or Tainted Water. We're Like That Catfish With Lungs. Take Us Out Of Our Environment And We Can Grow Whatever Body Parts We Need To Survive. After Jersey The Rest Of The Country's A Piece Of Cake. You Want To Send Someone Into A Fallout Zone? Get Him From Jersey. He'll Be Fine.