It was late and I was slowly drifting away into unconsciousness, which is sleep to you and me.

“Hey, where are we?” They all said in unison.

My four friends were seated on the green padded stools in “Dave’s Watering Hole”, located in downtown Chicago. We were all lined up together at the bar, Tom, Larry, Marla, Cousin Jim and myself. It was great to be altogether, ready to have a party.

Tom, my boyhood classmate, going back to 1^st grade, 68 years ago, was here in person. We didn’t see or hear from each other since we graduated High School at 18! We met again on facebook after 55 years.

Larry, started reading my blogs late at night or early in the morning, and commenting. His comments are always interesting and to the point.

Marla, my writer friend, who keeps me on the straight and narrow when it comes to writing.

Cousin Jim, aka the Long Lost Cousin, has a good heart and always has a joke handy. He is really my cousin on my mother’s side!

“Set them up bartender, it’s my treat,” I said, enthusiastically.

“Oh, this is great to get together,” said Larry.

“Beer for Cousin Jim, cocktails for Tom and Larry, a margarita for Marla, and brandy for me.”

Marla got off of her stool and started dancing a salsa with an imaginary partner!

“There is a saying, that everyone should have at least four friends. One to talk to and three to talk about. But, I’ve got four friends that I can party with!”

We all met, with me writing and the other four reading and commenting on “Writer Dave’s Blog”. When I created the Blog, I acquired four loyal readers who I greatly appreciate.

“I always thought we might meet someday,” said Tom.

“I, too, always wanted to get together,” said Larry.

“I wanted to meet Writer Dave because he has supplied me with many laughs, which always lighten my day,” said Marla.

“I’m a down to earth guy, and I always enjoy my cousin’s stories,” said LLC.

“And here we all are, let’s party,” I said.

Marla said: “I’ve sold over a million copies of my book!”

“Hey Marla, did you ever live in a basement apartment?”

“No, I haven’t, why do you want to know?”

“Because you’ve wrote a best CELLAR!”

Everyone laughed!

Tom went to the jukebox and put on Elvis’ record, “Let’s Have A Party”.

Everybody in Dave’s Watering Hole was jiving away!

“Breaking News! Writer Dave’s Blog has gone viral, with 500,000 readers, and they all promise to buy his forthcoming ebook,” said the TV newsreader.

The entire tavern broke out in a cheer!

Larry said: “Hugh Hefner wants me to be a PR again for Playboy.”

“That’s great, Larry, you always enjoyed that job.”

Tom said: “Andrew Lloyd Webber wants me to take the lead in his new Broadway play!”

“Tom, you will be a STAR,” I said.

Another News Flash came on the TV: “Cousin Jim has won a trip to Disneyland for his entire family.”

“Cousin, you will be a kid again with your grandchildren,” I exclaimed.

More drinks, bartender, all our dreams are coming true!”

These are my friends and we all finally met in person. Tom and I knew each other as children, now we meet as adults. The others I met by internet connection.

“Sometimes in everyone’s life, we get down and our inner fire goes out. It then bursts into flame again by an encounter with other human beings. You four people have rekindled my inner fire!”

We all cheered!

All of a sudden, I sat up in my bed. Shaking the grogginess from my head, I remembered an email I had recently from Tom.

I had just emailed him to tell him of my dream, that we would all meet for a party someday.

And Tom said: “It’s a wonderful dream but it’s good we have the internet to connect us. We may see each other again and we may not. Either way, we are friends and I am grateful.”

I smiled to myself, and laid my head down again on my pillow, hoping I could re-enter my dream!

PS- Writer Dave’s novel, “WEB OF GUILT”, coming soon on Amazon Kindle.

When I was a boy of eleven, I started talking to myself on a regular basis. I was an only child and my father had just died. So, it was really my mother and I against the world. I felt very alone, but self-talk gave me comfort.

My self-talk involved explaining to myself what my daily experiences meant to me and who I was and why I acted the way I did. Also, what I needed to do to survive without a father.

When I grew up, not only did I talk to myself but I started writing. That’s when I began explaining myself to myself through my writing…

“Hey cousin, what’s all this “explaining to yourself” stuff,  a form of therapy?”

“You could call it that, writing can be therapy.”

“Sometimes when I’m depressed, I feel like I need therapy,” said my cousin, soberly.

“What I’m talking about is explaining to yourself how you see the world in terms of your own life, occupation, and your immediate preoccupations, and how you should proceed in life.”

“This is getting deep!”

“Not really, you know the stories I write?”

“Oh yes, I like your stories.”

“Well, I usually ask hidden questions about the world through my stories. Why are we here? Who do we think we are? Looking for explanations and answers, the writer uses words to explore concepts.”

“Oh, I get it, we have gaps in our knowledge, so you fill the gaps with words.”

“Right! You’re getting the gist of this.”

My cousin smiled from ear to ear.

“When I write, I ask myself: What I’m thinking, what I’m seeing and what it means, what I want and what I fear, this is the explanation process of writing.”

“That’s interesting, you’re writing your self-talk!”

“I try to explain myself to myself so I don’t become someone I’m not. Life is difficult enough without being an impersonator too!”

“Hey cousin, I like that line! But how do the stories you write explain things to you?”

“I write dramatized explorations of all the emotional turbulence I experience, anger, love, hate, guilt and so on. Through my words I try to make these abstract concepts, concrete. So I understand myself better.”

“Sometimes, cousin, I wonder who I am, maybe I should start writing!”

“Just be yourself, you can do that better than anyone else.”

“You’re a philosopher, cousin.”

“When I read my own stories, even though the story itself is made up, I can tell that it has been molded by my own life experiences. And this helps me explain myself to myself, in other words, to understand myself.”

“Cousin, I’m going to take this “explaining yourself” stuff to heart.”

“I hope my rambling on has helped you,” I smiled.

“Oh yes, I’m going home now, to EXPLAIN to my wife that I’m going to lay down the law in our house, but I will probably have to accept all of her AMENDMENTS!”

“I’ve had a hell of a day. I’m so mad I could spit nails,” said my Long Lost Cousin.

“Calm down and tell me what happened.”

“I was standing in a long line at the supermart checkout. When some clown butts in front of me with a full trolley!”

“What did you do?”

“I yelled, “Who the hell do you think you are? Get to the back of the line.”

“What happened then?”

“He just put his middle finger up and smiled.”

The other people in the line were getting fidgety.

“Manager! Manager!” My cousin screamed.

The manager came running!

“This bozo line-jumped, and he won’t move to the back of the line.”

“Please sir, go to the back,” said the manager, pleading with the bozo.

“No, I’m staying right here. This guy can’t order me around,” the bozo said, defiantly.

“Then I pushed him out of line and took his trolley to the back of the line.

Then he pushed me from behind. We were pushing each other back and forth. Before I knew what was happening, the police were there calming everyone down. It took me two hours to get out of the store with my groceries. Can you believe it?”

“You could have handled it better,” I said, calmly.

“How’s that?”

“Well, you are still visibly upset and it has made your day miserable. This is the outcome of your aggressive behavior in handling that difficult situation.”

“What would you rather me say? “Please sir, will you be so kind as to move to the back of the line. That’s being a wimp.”

“Do you know what being assertive means?”

“Please tell me, cousin dear, I’m all ears.”

“Well, it doesn’t mean being sarcastic, I’ll tell you that!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Being assertive involves talk focused on the solving of problems and preserving the dignity of everyone in the difficult situation.”

“How do you do that in the line-jumping situation?”

“Well, you could have said:

“I’ve been in this line for a while, waiting, and you going in front of me has upset me, would you please go to the end of the line,” you see, no swearing, no name calling, and no pushing.”

My cousin looked at me quizzically.

“Now, to communicate this, you have to have a firm tone of voice, eye contact, and a confident stance, no slouching!”

“So you think saying that will make him move to the back of the line?”

“Well, at least you are not arguing with him in a loud voice.”

My cousin shook his head.

“Now, you might get a very angry response, or be ignored, and the line-jumper might stay put. But, on the other hand, you might get an apology and he might move back.”

“That would be great if he went to the back.”

“Yes, and you would feel good for tackling the situation in a calm, cool way, and not spoil your day.”

“Well cousin, thanks for the lesson  in assertiveness.”

“You’re welcome. Hey, where are you going?”

“Home. My wife said she’s going to let me do something I have always dreamed of doing. She will let me win an argument without being ASSERTIVE!”

I was at a literary conference, where not only writers meet but also people who are interested in books and the info they contain, whether fiction or non-fiction.

I was having a glass of wine and chatting with a couple of writers, when this chap sat down next to me and said:

“I hope they “cure” the deterioration of old age because I would like to live a long time to continue and finish all the projects I have on the go.”

I took a good look at this guy, he was very well built and healthy looking for a grey headed fella with quite a few wrinkles on his face.

“Well, there is a writer here that is going to speak about his book on “Immortality”. I guess that’s why you’re here today.”

“Yes, I will probably buy his book and get him to sign it for me.”

“That statement you made when you sat down, It’s a good way to start a conversation,” I smiled.

“I’m sorry if I butted in, but I’m new at these conferences and I am anxious to make acquaintances.”

“That’s alright, the purpose of these meetings is to exchange views on ideas that different writers have written about.”

“Well, I would like to live to at least 160 to complete my projects and see my grandchildren grown up and maybe even my great grandchildren.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixty.”

“So, you’re looking for another 100 years!”

“Yes, but the trouble is that now our cell-repair mechanisms shut down due to old age.”

One of the writers at our table piped up, smiling:

“When I learned of a friend’s death, I asked, what of? I was told apparently it was nothing serious, only old age.”

“Well, that’s my point. I don’t want to die of old age,” said my friend, next to me, very seriously. He had a far away look in his eyes.

“Did you ever consider Cryonics?”

“No, what’s that all about?”

“It’s a “freeze-wait-then re-animate” process. A sort of frozen fountain of youth.”

“You mean when I die, I would be frozen like the food in my refrigerator?”

“Well, freezing does preserve things.”

“How does it work?”

“After death, all your blood is removed and replaced with a fluid that preserves your organs, while they are frozen. Then after a length of time, the technologies of the future could bring you back to life. Defrost you, so to speak, for another lifetime of 100 years or so.”

Our new friend looked very pensive.

“That sounds interesting. The distinction between the living and the dead would become vague and actually blur. Our definitions of death would be re-written!”

“There are a couple of questions yet to be ironed out. Would the brain cells be okay after freezing? Would memory and personal identity be restored?”

“Has anyone been brought back to life yet after defrosting?”

“Not yet, to my knowledge. There was a fella in the late 60’s, who was suspended and apparently his body is checked ever so often, and it seems to be holding up okay. They might try to defrost him soon. As of now, there are approximately 1000 bodies in suspension.”

“Well, it’s a thought,” said my friend, seeking immortality.

One of the other writers at our table said:

“Maybe death is the best part of life; it’s always saved for last!”

We all laughed, except the fella seeking the Fountain of Youth.

I got up from the table and said:

“Well, I have to go now, I’ve got a speech to give. I’ve enjoyed talking to you, here’s my card, we should keep in touch.

THE CARD READ:

CRYONICS INCORPORATED

EXTENDING LIFE THROUGH NEW SCIENCE

I was sitting in my favorite diner having a coffee. It was too early for the tavern and the green padded stools! The curvy waitress served me my coffee and said:

“Did you see that cartoon in the paper today?

“No, I didn’t, was it funny?”

“Oh Yes, it was on the moon, you see, and this red Indian comes out of his teepee and sees in the distance an astronaut sticking an American flag into the dusty rock and he says:

“Oh no, not again!”

I smiled, but the fella next to me said sourly:

“The moon landing was a conspiracy, it never happened!”

“What makes you believe such dribble?” I said seriously.

The waitress disappeared and left us to it.

“I’m a member of “Conspiracy Ltd.”, and we believe in many conspiracies. We believe the “powers that be” are trying to hoodwink us.”

“I remember the moon landing well, that day back in July of 1969, when my whole family watched it on TV, and we were incredibly proud of the achievement. Why would it be faked?”

“We know it was all done because of the Cold War and The Space Race with the Soviets. It was deemed easier and less expensive for NASA to fake the moon landing and thereby guaranteeing success, than to really go there. Our technology was also probably lacking. So, faking it was easier with less risk.”

I shook my head.

“But all the evidence points to a real moon landing. It was probably the best documented event in human history. There were thousands of pictures, hours of video, and many moon rocks. Scientists do not doubt, for a moment, that it was not real.”

My diner companion eyed me suspiciously.

“You people are ready to believe things because you are very gullible.”

“On the contrary, I am a skeptic! I question and analyze ideas and events with the concept of fallibility in mind. But when reason, logic and evidence prevail, as in the case of the moon landing, it becomes fact.”

“We conspiracy believers don’t believe what the “authorities” tell us. We believe the theories because we see the world full of conspiracies!”

This guy was getting under my skin. The curvy waitress re-appeared.

“More coffee?”

“Yes please, and I’ll take a piece of the cherry pie.”

I thought if I indulge myself, I might be able to take this guy with a grain of salt.”

She returned with my pie and said:

“I have another moon joke.”

“Go ahead, darling, it might lighten this conversation up.”

“Well, after the Americans went to the moon, the Russians said they will send a man to the Sun! The engineers said, if he goes to the Sun, he will burn up!

“What do you think we are stupid?” The Soviets replied, “We’ll send him at night!”

The diner erupted with laughter, except the guy next to me.

“Do you realize it would be virtually impossible to fake the moon landing? The conspiracy would have to involve about 400,000 people who worked on the project. Governments are not known for keeping secrets! So, with the number of people that would have had to be involved, someone would have leaked the hoax.”

“People like you believe science is the absolute truth.”

“No, you’re wrong there, science, like everything, can at times, be fallible, but its strength is self-correction. If something is wrong, it will be flushed out by lack of external verification. In the case of the moon landing there was plenty of external verification.”

I had enough of this guy and as I got up to leave, the waitress hurried over and said: “How many aerospace engineers does it take to change a light bulb on the moon?”

Walking out the door, I said:

“None! It’s not rocket science, you know.”

I was so excited, I had to call up my Long Lost Cousin, to tell him the news.

“Hello Cousin, I have to tell you my first novel is out on Kindle. I’m so excited.”

“That’s great Cousin, what’s it about?”

“Well, there are three main characters suffering with extreme guilt and they try to rid themselves of their guilt in different ways and they all get tangled up with a gangster.”

“Hey, that sounds interesting. What’s it like, writing and publishing a novel?”

“Your novel is like your baby, but the gestation period is much longer than nine months. You plough on and on, then one day it’s finished.”

“Your baby, huh?”

“That’s right. Getting to the end of the novel is hard and at the finish it’s sad, because you have to let go and let it out into the world.”

“I imagine it takes a lot of going over to make it just right.”

“Yes it does, it’s called revising. You check grammar, punctuation, word choice, etc. It’s about looking at your book from different angles.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Do you read many novels, Cousin?”

“Yes, I just finished one that I didn’t like at all. In fact, the writer should have put a finishing touch on the story- A MATCH!”

“That’s very funny, I hope you like my novel.”

“Can you take criticism on your book?”

My Cousin was starting to delve beneath my skin, now.

“Yes, I can, when you are a writer you have to have a thick skin. When your novel is out there in the big, bad, world, you have to expect some criticism.”

“How do you rationalize it to yourself?”

“Well, when you let out an object into the world, and it’s something you have created and invested in; when all is said and done, it is still an object that can and should be criticized.”

“Do you have interesting characters in your novel?”

“I hope you will find them interesting. I tried to make it a character study.”

“This novel that I didn’t like; the writer said his characters bore no resemblance to any person living or dead. That was what was wrong with the story!”

I smiled, but I wished he wouldn’t make so many jokes.

“Well Cousin, I hope you will download my book onto your Kindle. Remember my novel is like a game for two players, you and me. My book may have been written in solitude but the dream of the story comes alive when the reader’s imagination collaborates with my imagination. I hope I can get you Cousin, to stay inside the dream of my story.”

“About this birth of yours, was it a long labour?”

“You and your jokes, Cousin, yes, as a matter of fact, about three years.”

“Well, if you kept at it that long, I congratulate you and I will most certainly download your book.”

“Thank you, Cousin, the world is filled with words and I hope you enjoy the ones I am giving you.”

PS-From Writer Dave: My novel, “Web of Guilt, A Chicago Story”, is coming soon to Amazon Kindle.

I was at a luncheon, where the speaker’s topic was “Becoming a Writer”.

During lunch, before the speaker spoke, the gentleman next to me asked me what I do now that I’m retired.

“I’m a writer,” I said, and all the other six people at the table suddenly looked at me with raised eyebrows.

“Are you now, what do you write?”

“Non-fiction, short stories, blog posts and I’ve just finished my first novel.”

“Anything published?”

“A few articles for a magazine years ago, I publish my blog posts on the internet, and I’m going to self-publish my novel.”

The chap smiled and said:

“Should you really call yourself a writer?”

This guy was getting under my skin. The others at the table were waiting for my answer.

“Of course I’m a writer and I have a pile of rejection letters to prove it! Only writers who write and submit can get rejected. What do you do?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“That’s nice, nobody at this table is going to ask you to prove it!”

Everyone laughed.

“It’s interesting that writing is one of the few jobs where people put the “burden of proof” on you.”

“I guess it’s a form of identity,” one person across from me said.

“Yes, you’re right. I look at myself in the mirror and say, “I am a writer”. It’s a unique way of interacting with and viewing the world.”

“I guess if you call yourself a writer, you have to write often, probably daily,” the doctor said, humbly.

“That’s right, a writer has to produce. Nobody will ever miss something you didn’t write. Writers have to create their own motivation.”

“You must have to discipline yourself to write,” someone said.

“Yes, a writer must have self-discipline. Writers are people who write!”

“What about writer’s block?”

Questions were coming from all directions now!

“Well, questions like the one the doctor put to me, “Should I call myself a writer?”, contribute to writer’s block!”

“What do you mean?”

“All writers have a little negative voice in the back of their heads saying:

“Are you really a writer, maybe you should put your pen down and walk away from the table.”

“Writers hear voices?”

“Yes, so do you, it’s the voice of self-doubt!”

Everyone at the table nodded their head.

“The doctor’s controversial question just fortifies that voice, which is the enemy of writers and really the enemy of all art.”

“Well, you sure know a lot about writing. I’m sorry I said what I did,” said the doctor, shaking my hand.

“Apology accepted.”

At that moment the M.C. announced:

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, our speaker: Writer Dave.”

The applause was deafening. I GOT UP AND WENT TO THE PODIUM!

My friend, Tom, decided to write a family memoir as a legacy since he was getting on. One day, he came to my house, visibly upset.

“What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve been researching your family tree and found out you don’t exist!”

“It’s not a laughing matter, Dave. My cousin is very mad at me, in fact it’s bordering on hate, since I showed him the first draft of my memoir.”

“Hold on Tom, it sounds like we need a couple of strong cocktails before we continue.”

When I brought the cocktails into the lounge, Tom continued:

“Well, it was the section about Uncle Ernie, my cousin’s father, that ticked him off. Uncle Ernie was in the Korean War and received a couple of medals for valor, he was a war hero.”

“That’s great, what was wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but I decided to write how he appeared to me as a child. He wore a deer stalker cap and loud checked shirts, shorts, knee length socks and walking boots. It was quite a comical sight. And his wife, Aunt Kate, would nag him to change his outfit.”

“It seems to me, you are showing the intimate, human side of a man who goes on to become a war hero.”

“Yes but, my cousin says, I’m mocking his father, the war hero, making fun of him. And further more, he also accuses me of making his mother look like a horrible person because she nagged him.”

We both drained our cocktail glasses.

“Tom, it sounds like your cousin would like to hang you from the family tree!”

“That’s only the half of it. Now, I’m not invited to his daughter’s wedding and he’s going to tell everyone at the wedding how I made fun of his father and mother. The whole family will hate me!”

“Tom, my friend, you made the mistake of showing your cousin the first draft before preparing him about the comedy that leads eventually to stories about his father’s heroism. You should have engaged him in the storytelling process. He might have then realized you were using the comedy to establish a wonderful character, his father.”

“But how do I reconcile this with my cousin now?”

“Ask him to tell you some stories about his father and get him involved in the writing process, it might appeal to his ego. Get him in on the revision also.”

“I’ll try it, but right now he thinks it’s in my genes to be insulting. I hope I can save face in the family.”

“Well, Tom, that’s the problem with the gene pool, there are NO LIFEGUARDS!”

One grey day, there was a knock on my door. I wasn’t expecting anyone. When I opened the door, there stood my website guru, Eric, the man who helps me keep on the cyber space straight and narrow!

“ Come in, Eric, you’re just the man I need to see right now. You must be psychic, dropping by when I need you.”

“Well Dave, I did feel some vibrations in the air. But to tell you the truth, I just felt like sampling some of your wine. What’s the problem?”

“I’m a frustrated blogger. I have a thousand hits on my writer’s blog, where I feature my short stories. But, I only have 300 comments and some of those are mine!”

“So, you’re frustrated because people don’t comment!”

I poured Eric and myself a large glass of red wine each and continued:

“Yes, but not only that, when I tell people about my blog, they say, they don’t have time to read it!”

“Well, people do need time to absorb and process a piece of writing so they know what to comment.”

“But Eric, I tell people my stories are only 400 to 500 words in length. It only takes a few minutes to read and comment on a story.”

“More wine, please,” said Eric, pointing to his empty glass.

Upon getting his glass refilled, he continued:

“Well, lets see if you’re doing things right. Do you close your stories with a question?”

“Probably not as much as I should.”

“Do you work hard enough at blogging?”

“I most certainly do. I put a lot of sweat, stress and energy into my writer’s blog.”

“Do you reply to your comments to keep the conversation going?”

“I do reply sometimes, but I will do it more often now.”

“Is it easy to comment on your blog?”

“Oh yes, only name and email are required and the email address is not published.”

“Well, it seems you’re doing everything right. The only thing I would say is that a lot of people don’t want to open themselves up online, they’re scared. People are insecure and don’t comment for fear of humiliation. Also, we live in an environment of bystanders, watchers. There are commenters and viewers. By the way, do you need comments for affirmation?”

“No, not really, but a comment shows that the reader cared enough to let you know the blog was read.”

“Do you enjoy blogging?”

“Oh yes, I enjoy writing the blog, it’s a way of getting my stories out to the public.”

“Well Dave, I’ll leave you now with this gem: work hard on your writing, the secrets of success won’t work unless you do. And always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them!”

With that, I was left alone to wash up the wine glasses!

***

Well readers, I have 80 stories on this blog. Will you take time to read and comment? I will appreciate it.

My cousin climbed onto the green padded stool next to me. I took one look at him and said:

“You look terrible! What’s wrong?”

“It’s strange, I woke up this morning feeling caged, imprisoned, restricted, and barred!”

“Well, I guess you don’t feel so good,” I smiled.

“It’s not a laughing matter, cousin.”

“I’m sorry. Bartender, two beers here.”

My cousin took a gulp of his beer and continued:

“My wife wants this, my wife wants that, I don’t like my job and I feel very unsatisfied. I seem to be looking for something, but I’m not sure what it is or where to look for it!”

I took a sip of my beer and thought for a moment.

“I think I can explain your feelings, cousin.”

“I hope you can, because if you think about it, I really have everything I need, food, clothes, shelter, job, and a wife, yet I have an overdose of depression!”

“Well, cousin, the question is: Why, when our basic needs are met, do we still feel unsatisfied?”

“Why, indeed, cousin.”

He stared at me, waiting for the answer.

“I think our constant searching for something else is because our brains, bodies and society in general have changed so radically in the last 50 or so years. We have evolved!”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Our culture has evolved, in what we do, how we get our food, how long we live, where we live, what we buy, and how we think about life. So, in our abundant society, we no longer focus on what we NEED, we think more about what we WANT.”

“Wow! I want a lot of things!”

My cousin stared into his glass of beer like it was a crystal ball.

“So, what do we do to adapt to this evolution?”

“Probably you need to become more electrified, search for more adventures and meaning in life, challenge yourself more.”

“I always feel like life is passing me by quickly.”

“That’s the thing, my cousin, the grim-reaper is always right behind us, whispering, “I am coming!”

My cousin was wide-eyed!

“That’s a scary thought.”

“It’s meant to be scary, to get you moving, doing different things in life. As the years pass, ask yourself, Did I live? Did I love? Did I matter? It’s soul-shaking to question yourself this way, but it needs to be done”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m the only one that feels unsatisfied with life.”

“That’s not true, cousin, 4 out of 5 people suffer from the “Is This All There Is” syndrome.”

My cousin pondered that statistic and said:

“I wonder if I’m the ONE that Enjoys it?”