Look at your man. Now back to me. Now back at your man. Now back to me. Sadly, he isn’t me. But if he stopped carelessly cheating on you and became an Old Sport he could seem like he’s me. Look down. Back up. Where are you? You’re in a yellow car with the man who’s as rich as your man. What’s in your hand? I have it. It’s an invitation to a spectacular party I’m throwing Saturday. Look again.The invitation is now shirts. Anything is possible when your man is an Old Sport and not a racist.
I’m in a pool.