Elmer Quotes

Something has got to hold it together. I'm saying my prayers to Elmer, the Greek god of glue.

A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the majority discovers it can vote itself largess out of the public treasury. After that, the majority always votes for the candidate promising the most benefits with the result the democracy collapses because of the loose fiscal policy ensuing, always to be followed by a dictatorship, then a monarchy.

The Maker of the universe with stars a hundred thousand light-years apart was interested, furious, and very personal about it if a small boy played baseball on Sunday afternoon.

Come on, Elmer,” he said to his horse. “Let’s find a nice prickly cactus you can toss me into.

Power is to be used in the service of others and only secondarily, if at all, for the benefit of oneself.

A bad habit or two is good for a man or a beast. Did you ever know a man who didn't have any bad habits? I have, and I always hated the son of a bitch." -- Charlie Flagg

He had, in fact, got everything from the church and Sunday School, except, perhaps, any longing whatever for decency and kindness and reason

Paulie looked thoughtful. 'Well don't use Elmer's glue,' he warned. 'it sure didn't work on the Blackberry.

A little honest swearin" wipeth away anger and bringeth peace to the soul.

Power is meant to be shared with the goal of empowering others. Hoarded power weakens others and exalts oneself. Power, when grounded in biblical values, serves others by liberating them. It acknowledges that people bear the image of God and treats them in a way that will nurture the development of that image. In so doing, we honor their Creator.

Good gravy,” said Elmer. “You’re getting a real crash course, then.” “That’s for sure.” “It’s definitely more crash than course,” said Enoch.

He had learned how to assemble Jewish texts, Greek philosophy, and Middle-Western evangelistic anecdotes into a sermon. And he had learned that poverty was blessed, but that bankers make the best deacons.

Spear and magic helmet,” I said in my best Elmer Fudd voice. “Be vewy, vewy quiet. We’re hunting vampires.

I'll be riding rough horses when you are salted away in a box.

The first and greatest commandment is, Don't let them scare you.

Yeah, you’re just… Damn it, Charlotte you’re so fucking beautiful. How did I miss this? How did I not plaster myself at your side in kindergarten and stick to you like fucking Elmer’s glue every second until now?

Personality can open doors, but only character can keep them open.

A man does what he feels is right, no matter what it costs him.

I just write whenever I can.

There is one thing better than making a new friend,and that is keeping a old one.

This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave.

The matter is very simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But . . . we pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well the minute we understand, we are obliged to act accordingly. —SØREN KIERKEGAARD

Smiling amiably, the San Angelo man said: “If you do have to explain it, why not use the old joke? Man asked a rancher in the Fort Stockton area: ‘Caleb, your six boys are all good Democrats, I hope?’ and Caleb said: ‘Yep, all but Elmer. He learned to read.

If a man is forever concerned first and foremost with his own interests then he is bound to collide with others. If for any man life is a competition . . . then he will always think of other human beings as enemies, or at least as opponents who must be pushed out of the way . . . and the object of life becomes not to help others up but to push them down.[7]

And though he had almost flunked in Greek, his thesis on 'Sixteen Ways of Paying a Church Debt' had won the ten-dollar prize in Practical Theology.

Most of life is a matter of nonessential differences.

Street, and she was able to give Elmer the three hundred

—G. K. CHESTERTON “This nation will remain the land of the free only so long as it is the home of the brave.” —ELMER DAVIS

His blue eyes narrow into slits, glaring at me heatedly. It’s the equivalent to throwing a bunny at me, but whatever makes the asshole feel like Elmer Fudd.

The wreckers against the builders!” said Elmer. “There’s the whole story of life!

GOOD WILL YOU MARK BELOW ALL ALL RIGHT WITH LOVE AFTERWARDS WHY NOT SAY YES [ ] YES

All my other current friends were "intellectuals"––Chad the Nietzschean anthropologist, Carlo Marx and his nutty surrealist low-voiced serious staring talk, Old Bull Lee and his critical anti-everything drawl––or else they were slinking criminals like Elmer Hassel, with that hip sneer; Jane Lee the same, sprawled on the Oriental cover of her couch, sniffing at the New Yorker. But Dean's intelligence was every bit as formal and shining and complete, without the tedious intellectualness. And his "criminality" was not something that sulked and sneered; it was a wild yea-saying overburst of American joy; it was Western, the west wind, an ode from the Plains, something new, long prophesied, long a-coming. Besides, all my New York friends were in the negative, nightmare position of putting down society and giving their tired bookish or political or psychoanalytical reasons, but Dean just raced in society, eager for bread and love; he didn't care one way or the other.

And when Elmer was about to slip out to the kitchen with her to make lemonade, Benham held him by demanding, 'What do you think of John Wesley's doctrine of perfection?' 'Oh, it's absolutely sound and proven,' admitted Elmer, wondering what the devil Mr. Wesley's doctrine of perfection might be.

Young Bob Lincoln and Elmer Ellsworth . . . were cutting up in the office, and Lincoln reproved them. Bob replied by quoting the well-known couplet A little nonsense now and then Is relished by the wisest men. "So it is," said Lincoln; "that's the difference between the wise man and a fool, who relishes it all the time.

Jake was perfectly aware that in the fierce furnace of Elmer Chambers' mind, the gross carbon of wish and opinion was often blasted into the hard diamonds which he called facts... or, in more informal circumstances, "factoids." His favorite phrase, spoken often and with reverence, was, "The fact is," and he used it every chance he got.

Elmer Gantry never knew who set him thirty dimes, wrapped in a tract about holiness, nor why. But he found the sentiments in the tract useful in his sermon, and the thirty dimes he spent for lovely photographs of burlesque ladies.

Well, he'd get help from the Bible. It was all inspired, every word, no matter what scoffers like Jim said. He'd take the first text he turned to and talk on that. He opened on: 'Now THEREFORE, Tatnai, governor beyond the river, Shethar-boznai, and your companions the Apharsachites, which ARE beyond the river, be ye far from thence,' an injunction spirited but not at present helpful.

It was not an esthetic room. Though Frank Shallard might have come to admire pictures, great music, civilized furniture, he had been trained to regard them as worldly, and to content himself with art which 'presented a message,' to regard 'Les Miserables' as superior because the bishop was a kind man, and 'The Scarlet Letter' as a poor book because the heroine was sinful and the author didn't mind.

Kita tidak akan memperoleh iman dengan bertengkar perihal agama. Kita mendapat iman dengan bersujud, menyerahkan diri kepadaNya dan berdoa. Tuhan memberikan iman kepada orang-orang yang memerlukan dan menginginkannya.

You don’t like Bob?” Devin grinned, nodding to Jason and Joshua as they walked past. He walked slowly towards Andrei. “Okay, how about Elmer?” “Is that not a glue?” Devin walked closer. “How about Stanley?” “The carpet cleaners?” “How do you know that?” Devin chuckled. “The song is very catching. And annoying.

Some people make headlines while others make history.

lead an almost irritatingly pure life, but who had no

A man may fall many times but he won't be a failure until he says someone pushed him.

Morning always promises miracles.

Humility before God generates humility toward others. If humility toward others is not evident, it's unlikely we see ourselves correctly before God.

All the elephants of the jungle were gray except Elmer, who was a patchwork of brilliant colors until the day he got tired of being different and making the other elephants laugh.

Elmer Gantry was drunk. He was eloquently drunk, lovingly and pugnaciously drunk.

Damned Elmer's Glue! Just let me finish emasculating this eye and I'll be right with you.

Martin Luther: “He who believes his doctrine to be perfectly right and true has only to lift his hands and touch his ears and discover they are the long furry ears of a donkey.

Haluan lentää korkealle, tähtien yläpuolelle - mutta lopuksi haluan levätä maassa.

Once they've borne children, mothers can construct virtually any costume using scissors, felt, Elmer's glue, and a leftover pen spring. They're like the Special Forces of crafts.

Don’t let the door hit you where the Lord split you. —The gospel according to Elmer Stillman

[I]t was in the pairs that the prisoners kept alive the semblance of humanity concluded Elmer Luchterhand, a sociologist at Yale who interviewed fifty-two concentration camp survivors shortly after liberation. Pairs stole food and clothing for each other, exchanged small gifts and planned for the future. If one member of a pair fainted from hunger in front of an SS officer, the other would prop him up. Survival . . . could only be a social achievement, not an individual accident, wrote Eugene Weinstock, a Belgian resistance fighter and Hungarian-born Jew who was sent to Buchenwald in 1943. Finally the death of one member of a pair often doomed the other. Women who knew Anne Frank in the Bergen-Belsen camp said that neither hunger nor typhus killed the young girl who would become the most famous diarist of the Nazi era. Rather, they said, she lost the will to live after the death of her sister, Margot.

Do you know how much cheaper we could buy that feed if we’d get into the government program?” “The feed wouldn’t be cheaper. It’d just mean somebody else was helpin’ pay for it, is all.

Eddie Fislinger's church was an octagonal affair, with the pulpit in one angle, an arrangement which produced a fascinating, rather dizzy effect, reminiscent of the doctrine of predestination.

The Reverend Elmer Gantry was reading an illustrated pink periodical devoted to prize fighters and chorus girls in his room at Elizabeth J. Schmutz Hall late of an afternoon when two large men walked in without knocking. "Why, good evening, Brother Bains—Brother Naylor! This is a pleasant surprise. I was, uh— Did you ever see this horrible rag? About actoresses. An invention of the devil himself. I was thinking of denouncing it next Sunday. I hope you never read it—won't you sit down, gentlemen?—take this chair— I hope you never read it, Brother Floyd, because the footsteps of—

Second, building trust requires risk—mostly emotional. Testing strengthens trust. Friendships grow while working through difficulties together and finding resolution. This includes clarifying misunderstandings, admitting wrong, apologizing and forgiving. As we deal with the bumps in a relationship, mutual confidence increases. Soon both parties are confident the other will not intentionally hurt them.

When I was a boy, that was all I wanted—to grow a pair of wings and get up into the sky. I had a basement full of failed wing projects. Boards and capes and motors, even a pile of found feathers I once tried to glue together with a bottle of Elmer’s; you should have seen your grandmother’s face. But I never got any higher than the backyard fence I’d launch from. I never got inside a cloud. Your raven did.

The gospel crew could never consider their converts as human beings, like waiters or manicurists or brakemen, but they had in them such a professional interest as surgeons take in patients, critics in an author, fishermen in trout.

Although Gene was white there was something of the wise and tired old Negro in him, and something very much like Elmer Hassel, the New York dope addict, in him, but a railroad Hassel, a traveling epic Hassel, crossing and recrossing the country every year, south in the winter and north in the summer, and only because he had no place he could stay in without getting tired of it and because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars, generally the Western stars.

studying God’s names reveals His character to us more intimately. Among other names, for example, we know God as Creator, Judge, Savior and Sustainer. By reflecting on His names, we can gain insight into His nature and understand more about how He works in our lives.

It infuriates him, this killing, this death. Infuriating that this is what we’re known for now, drug cartels and slaughter. This my city of Avenida 16 Septembre, the Victoria Theater, cobblestone streets, the bullring, La Central, La Fogata, more bookstores than El Paso, the university, the ballet, garapiñados, pan dulce, the mission, the plaza, the Kentucky Bar, Fred’s—now it’s known for these idiotic thugs. And my country, Mexico—the land of writers and poets—of Octavio Paz, Juan Rulfo, Carlos Fuentes, Elena Garro, Jorge Volpi, Rosario Castellanos, Luis Urrea, Elmer Mendoza, Alfonso Reyes—the land of painters and sculptors—Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Gabriel Orozco, Pablo O’Higgins, Juan Soriano, Francisco Goitia—of dancers like Guillermina Bravo, Gloria and Nellie Campobello, Josefina Lavalle, Ana Mérida, and composers—Carlos Chávez, Silvestre Revueltas, Agustín Lara, Blas Galindo—architects—Luis Barragán, Juan O’Gorman, Tatiana Bilbao, Michel Rojkind, Pedro Vásquez—wonderful filmmakers—Fernando de Fuentes, Alejandro Iñárritu, Luis Buñuel, Alfonso Cuarón, Guillermo del Toro—actors like Dolores del Río, “La Doña” María Félix, Pedro Infante, Jorge Negrete, Salma Hayek—now the names are “famous” narcos—no more than sociopathic murderers whose sole contribution to the culture has been the narcocorridas sung by no-talent sycophants. Mexico, the land of pyramids and palaces, deserts and jungles, mountains and beaches, markets and gardens, boulevards and cobblestoned streets, broad plazas and hidden courtyards, is now known as a slaughter ground. And for what? So North Americans can get high.

So what do you think? Should the toothpaste and the condiments go next to the Elmer's glue and the hair gel and lubricants? Make a shelf of sticky things? Or should I put it with the chewing tobacco and the mouth-wash, and make a little display of things that you spit?

Jesus came to earth occupying two roles: (1) Lord and Christ, and (2) humble, obedient servant. He alone is Lord and Christ. But he taught and exemplified humble servanthood, the role we are to occupy—the way of the towel. The problem arises when his followers choose to follow him in his kingly role and not in his servant role. They gravitate toward the robe while resisting the towel. The Lord Jesus Christ alone wears the robe. His disciples are to follow him only in his humble, obedient servant role—maybe even his suffering-servant role.

Also, to build a million-member church, the pastor must have the evangelistic power of Billy Graham, the expositional ability of Charles Spurgeon, the apologetic answers of Josh McDowell, the teaching focus of John MacArthur, the organizing skills of Bill Bright, and the persuasive ability of Ronald Reagan.

The public filed past Elmer in his casket, looking every bit the soldier and nothing at all the decomposing body. Embalming received another boost four years later, when Abe Lincoln’s embalmed body traveled from Washington to his hometown in Illinois. The train ride amounted to a promotional tour for funerary embalming, for wherever the train stopped, people came to view him, and more than a few must have noted that he looked a whole lot better in his casket than Grandmama had looked in hers. Word spread and the practice grew, like a chicken heart, and soon the whole nation was sending their decedents in to be posed and preserved.

Church was a term describing a real community of believers who meet in the presence of Christ. A church is not described by what Christians do, but who they are. But over time a problem arose. Christians began going to church, rather than being the church. Then outsiders began seeing church as a place rather than a way of life.

I'm realizing how short people's memories are, and what's written here could help them remember what it was like for us. This is not just my story, or your mother's, or your Uncle Joseph's, or Farmer Ben's. This is the story of so many people who lived through those times like us. This is our story. All of us. And it's important not to forget.

A brighter light tends to create a darker shadow.

People are like wet fabrics: You can never know their true color unless you squeeze them dry.

I packed my stuff, left my cactus BILLY with the neighbors, and got a taxi to the bus station.

Aw, dad... this isn't another one of those "oh, you're LUCKY you didn't have to peck dry corn and uncooked rice off the dirt!" kind of thing is it?

You must go beyond everything you have known about God and prayer in the past. You must pray many ways1 and at many times.

Gratitude is the least remembered of all virtues but is the acid test of character.

O Lord, give me a daily burden for my children. Teach me how to pray for them, and lead me into effective intercession.

Stay focus on what you are doing that you don't have the time to entertain negative thoughts and negative people.

Don't quit simply because it's impossible to do it now. Maybe the right time will come and you will succeed. Don't lose hope. You're on the right track.

Don’t be scared of upsetting folks ’coz most of ’em are topsy-turvy anyway, and you’ll only be putting ’em back on their feet.

He was in that most blissful condition to which a powerful young man can attain—unrighteous violence in a righteous cause.

sinclair "They were obsessed by the gaffer in Terra Haute who got converted every single night in the meetings. He may have been insane and he may have been a plain drunk.

They were obsessed by the gaffer in Terra Haute who got converted every single night in the meetings. He may have been insane and he may have been a plain drunk.

Follow whatever your heart and soul desire.

We choose our attitudes. When we let little things annoy us, we even choose to be grumpy.

Only the tame birds have a longing. The wild one's fly.

Keep my heart tender (2 Kings 22:19), easily impressed with your word and providence, touched with an affectionate concern for your glory, and sensitive to every impulse of your Spirit.

If we ask anything according to His will, He hears us. And if we know that He hears us, whatever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we have asked of Him. 1 J O H N 5: 1 41 5

But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life" (John 4:14 NKJV).

I’m not sure Dave realized in that split-second decision what a profound message he was sending to his “father,” Mr. Yaka, and the long-term impact it would have on them and their ministry—even the continent!

local people notice we aren’t there to learn from them but to teach them; we won’t ask questions but will give answers; we aren’t there to be with them but to train them; we won’t build trust but will attempt to transform them; we’re not there to dialogue but to lecture. Paulo Freire, the Brazilian educator, calls this a “subject-object relationship.” Unchecked ethnocentrism turns human beings into objects to be manipulated.

the Fundamentalists' crusade. ("Outrageous!" from the leonine gentleman.) They were mild enough now; they spoke in the name of virtue; but give them rope, and there would be a new Inquisition, a new hunting of witches.

Ah, nothing is too late Till the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. Cato learned Greek at eighty; Sophocles Wrote his grand Œdipus, and Simonides Bore off the prize of verse from his compeers, When each had numbered more than fourscore years.

write and rewrite the problem three or four times. Each time you process the information about the problem, you get a different view-point. Rewrite the problem again. Eventually you will clearly understand the problem, and your mind will focus on an answer.

Andy said, “Yonder goes a man who hates the sin, but he’s willin’ enough to take its wages.” Shanty replied, “I’m glad I won’t be wearin’ his shoes when he walks up to the Golden Gates.” “He’s wearin’ better shoes than me and you.” “I’d rather be barefooted.

The ever-reliable Bill Thompson filled the gap with a new character, Wallace Wimple. Wallace gave new meaning to the word “wimp,” for this was the nickname pinned on him by Fibber McGee. Wimple was terrified of his “big old wife,” the ferocious, often-discussed but never-present “Sweetie Face.” Also in 1941 came Gale Gordon as Mayor LaTrivia, who would arrive at the McGee house, start an argument, and become so tongue-tied that he’d blow his top. A year later, all these characters disappeared: Gordon went into the Coast Guard, and when Thompson joined the Navy, four characters went with him. With LaTrivia, Boomer, Depopoulous, Wimple, the Old Timer, and Gildersleeve all on the “recently departed” list, Fibber found a new devil’s advocate in the town doctor. Arthur Q. Bryan, who had played the voice of Elmer Fudd in the Warner Brothers cartoons, became Doc Gamble, continuing the verbal brickbats begun by Gildersleeve. Their squabbles could begin over a disputed doctor bill—McGee always disputed doctor bills—or erupt out of nowhere about anything at all.

(There is a Northern and Southern convention of this distinguished denomination, because before the Civil War the Northern Baptists proved by the Bible, unanswerably, that slavery was wrong; and the Southern Baptists proved by the Bible, irrefutably, that slavery was the will of God.)

Time magazine tried to cover up the Founding Fathers’ crime of non-diversity by making them look less WASPy.7 A photo display of eleven descendants of the Founders included Yukiko Irwin, born and raised in Japan,8 and an African American probation officer, Elmer Roberts, allegedly descended from Thomas Jefferson’s nonexistent sexual relationship with slave Sally Hemings. Time wanted to make absolutely clear that the United States was not the product of a bunch of Protestant, Anglo-Saxon men, if that’s what you were thinking. Except, the problem is, it was. And the country remained overwhelmingly Anglo-Saxon and Protestant right up until Teddy Kennedy decided to change it.

Though Elmer was the athletic ideal of the college, though his occult passion, his heavy good looks, caused the college girls to breathe quickly, though his manly laughter was as fetching as his resonant speech, Elmer was never really liked. He was supposed to be the most popular man in college; every one believed that everyone else adored him; and none of them wanted to be with him. They were all a bit afraid, a bit uncomfortable, and more than a bit resentful. It was not merely that he was a shouter, a pounder on backs, an overwhelming force, so that there was never any refuge of intimacy with him. It was because he was always demanding. Except with his widow mother, whom he vaguely worshiped, and with Jim Lefferts, Elmer assumed that he was the center of the universe and that the rest of the system was valuable only as it afforded him help and pleasure.

I worked and worked, and before I knew it, my collage was finished. Still damp from Elmer’s glue, the masterpiece included images of horses--courtesy, coincidentally, of Marlboro cigarette ads--and footballs. There were pictures of Ford pickups and green grass--anything I could find in my old magazines that even remotely hinted at country life. There was a rattlesnake: Marlboro Man hated snakes. And a photo of a dark, starry night: Marlboro Man was afraid of the dark as a child. There were Dr Pepper cans, a chocolate cake, and John Wayne, whose likeness did me a great favor by appearing in some ad in Golf Digest in the early 1980s. My collage would have to do, even though it was missing any images depicting the less tangible things--the real things--I knew about Marlboro Man. That he missed his brother Todd every day of his life. That he was shy in social settings. That he knew off-the-beaten-path Bible stories--not the typical Samson-and-Delilah and David-and-Goliath tales, but obscure, lesser-known stories that I, in a lifetime of skimming, would never have hoped to read. That he hid in an empty trash barrel during a game of hide-and-seek at the Fairgrounds when he was seven…and that he’d gotten stuck and had to be extricated by firefighters. That he hated long pasta noodles because they were too difficult to eat. That he was sweet. Caring. Serious. Strong. The collage was incomplete--sorely lacking vital information.

Shortly before you were born, I was pulled over by the PG County police, the same police that all the D.C. poets had warned me of. They approached on both sides of the car, shining their flashing lights through the windows. They took my identification and returned to the squad car. I sat there in terror. By then I had added to the warnings of my teachers what I’d learned about PG County through reporting and reading the papers. And so I knew that the PG County police had killed Elmer Clay Newman, then claimed he’d rammed his own head into the wall of a jail cell. And I knew that they’d shot Gary Hopkins and said he’d gone for an officer’s gun. And I knew they had beaten Freddie McCollum half-blind and blamed it all on a collapsing floor. And I had read reports of these officers choking mechanics, shooting construction workers, slamming suspects through the glass doors of shopping malls. And I knew that they did this with great regularity, as though moved by some unseen cosmic clock. I knew that they shot at moving cars, shot at the unarmed, shot through the backs of men and claimed that it had been they who’d been under fire. These shooters were investigated, exonerated, and promptly returned to the streets, where, so emboldened, they shot again. At that point in American history, no police department fired its guns more than that of Prince George’s County. The FBI opened multiple investigations—sometimes in the same week. The police chief was rewarded with a raise. I replayed all of this sitting there in my car, in their clutches. Better to have been shot in Baltimore, where there was the justice of the streets and someone might call the killer to account. But these officers had my body, could do with that body whatever they pleased, and should I live to explain what they had done with it, this complaint would mean nothing. The officer returned. He handed back my license. He gave no explanation for the stop.

My phone rang at midnight, just as I was clearing my bed of the scissors and magazines and glue. It was Marlboro Man, who’d just returned to his home after processing 250 head of cattle in the dark of night. He just wanted to say good night. I would forever love that about him. “What’ve you been doing tonight?” he asked. His voice was scratchy. He sounded spent. “Oh, I just finished up my homework assignment,” I answered, rubbing my eyes and glancing at the collage on my bed. “Oh…good job,” he said. “I’ve got to go get some sleep so I can get over there and get after it in the morning…” His voice drifted off. Poor Marlboro Man--I felt so sorry for him. He had cows on one side, Father Johnson on the other, a wedding in less than a week, and a three-week vacation in another continent. The last thing he needed to do was flip through old issues of Seventeen magazine for pictures of lip gloss and Sun-In. The last thing he needed to deal with was Elmer’s glue. My mind raced, and my heart spoke up. “Hey, listen…,” I said, suddenly thinking of a brilliant idea. “I have an idea. Just sleep in tomorrow morning--you’re so tired…” “Nah, that’s okay,” he said. “I need to do the--” “I’ll do your collage for you!” I interrupted. It seemed like the perfect solution. Marlboro Man chuckled. “Ha--no way. I do my own homework around here.” “No, seriously!” I insisted. “I’ll do it--I have all the stuff here and I’m totally in the zone right now. I can whip it out in less than an hour, then we can both sleep till at least eight.” As if he’d ever slept till eight in his life. “Nah…I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning…” “But…but…,” I tried again. “Then I can sleep till at least eight.” “Good night…” Marlboro Man trailed off, probably asleep with his ear to the receiver. I made the command decision to ignore his protest and spent the next hour making his collage. I poured my whole heart and soul into it, delving deep and pulling out all the stops, marveling as I worked at how well I actually knew myself, and occasionally cracking up at the fact that I was doing Marlboro Man’s premarital homework for him--homework that was mandatory if we were to be married by this Episcopal priest. But on the outside chance Marlboro Man’s tired body was to accidentally oversleep, at least he wouldn’t have to walk in the door of Father Johnson’s study empty-handed.