I’m not a fan of the national anthem. Sure, it’s beautiful in the way that ancient things are beautiful. Like when you see an old picture of your grandma, and you say, “Wow, grandma, you sure were pretty. I guess, technically, you’re still pretty compared to other old people.”

I’ve always found the breeding mechanics in the Pokemon games to be hilarious; we’re basically spending hours of video game time waiting for our Pokemon to have sex, and periodically picking up the resulting eggs.

I was twelve when my “little visitor” arrived for the first time. Its arrival was heralded by my mother as a “first taste of womanhood.” Frankly, in spite of her obvious enthusiasm, I found it a damn nuisance, nothing more. I can’t say I wasn’t prepared, though.