Jim Foster

For a guy who was supposed to be so damn smart about jungle stuff, he was one dumb bunny if you ask me. For the life of me, I could never see what Jane saw in him.

Now I love Sharon, although I wish she’d stop calling me, but Sharon would be blown away if she ever slapped leather with Alan Ladd or Jack Palance.

Someone in the crowd should have called out, “We’re the Chosen People and we have to cut the ends off our what?”

If Sound of Music was an accurate portrayal of a pre-war Austrian’s sex life, I’m surprised there are any new Austrians at all.

I remember some words I learned in Grade 11 French but not all. I found out much to my chagrin that ‘merde’ does not mean ‘thank you’ and the lady who owned ‘le magasin’ washed my mouth out with ‘salon’ (turned out she was Italian and couldn’t speak French either.)

That was extreme of course; most cases of bad judgement only result in 6 or 7 months in Intensive Care.

Sure the call came when you were in the tub, but you wouldn’t have violated the rules all that much had you wrapped a towel around yourself and combed your hair.

The Pope wrote me to ask that if I must jog, I not jog by the convents.

Even Premier Doug must bulldoze his way home occasionally and moan, “Karla, I’m afraid I acted like a dictatorial control freak today.”

“Oddly enough no one seemed all that interested, even when I took my shirt off and fanned my armpits …”