One of the inescapable encumbrances of leading an interesting life is that there have to be moments when you almost lose it.
This morning I shot six holes in my freezer. I think I've got cabin fever.
Elvis was the only man from Northeast Mississippi who could shake his hips and still be loved by rednecks, cops, and hippies.
Mr. Bear, you know in the eyes of the Lord, we're both beasts.
Wasting away again in Margaritaville, searching for my lost shaker of salt.
Where it all ends I can't fathom, my friends. If I knew, I might toss out my anchor.