I can't believe I'm the first clown to think of this. It might even be a bit disrespectful of Theoria's memory, God rest the ol' perv.
But it's a day that cries out, wanting to be asked: "What's your f***ing problem?"
Update [2004-9-29 22:54:43 by pastordan]: Mrs. Pastor walked as I was reading this thread. Of course, the first thing she saw was my smoker-boy confession. She laughed out loud. "I knew it! I knew it!" she said, "and now I have a confession in writing!"
I'm boned.