For 41 Years I Have Gone With

Fishing Is Boring, Unless You Catch An Actual Fish, And Then It Is Disgusting.

I Argue Very Well. Just Ask Any Of My Remaining Friends.

Remember: What Dad Really Wants Is A Nap. Really.

I Now Realize That The Small Hills You See On Ski Slopes Are Formed Around The Bodies Of Forty-seven-year-olds Who Tried To Learn Snowboarding.

There Was Nowhere To Sit Except The Bunk, Which Was Covered With Rotting Food, And A Wooden Stool, Upon Which Sat A Large Fur-covered Lump—an Old Cheese, Perhaps, Or A Dead Cat.