I think not. I invited a baseball to my last dinner party, confidently expecting to be regaled with amusing stories of Babe Ruth's drunken fornication with a champagne bottle, but it just sat there in the mashed potatos, pouting silently. Perhaps it is a puberty thing.
― Aimless (Aimless), Thursday, 11 November 2004 17:51 (twenty-one years ago)