What if this young woman, who writes such bad poems, in competition with her husband, whose poems are equally bad, should stretch her remarkably long and well-made legs out before you, so that her skirt slips up to the tops of her stockings?
My dad knew that if I wanted to make a career out of it, I needed to go to NASCAR rather than dirt racing. Personally, I like dirt racing a little bit more. It's a little more fun.