When I walk in the door, the first thing I do is plunge my hands into the great bowl of cocaine I keep in my foyer, much as an olympic gymnast would do before mounting the parallel bars or, my favorite event, the pummel horse. Is it spelled pummel? Probably not, but I like it better that way. It hints of a time when men were men and beating the shit out of a horse was an everyday occurrence. A time when you could steal candy from a baby and then smack the little shit across the face with the back of your hand. Those were probably good times. Difficult times, sure, but good. Now we sit on the couch and practice opening cans of beer. I'm getting really good at it.