“He had a punch like a bag full of cue balls.”

“A punching bag. The guy was pounding on a punching bag. That realization took about a nanosecond to register in her brain before the real important information came to the forefront: LoriSue, God bless her slutty little soul, had been absolutely correct. He was male-stripper material, and he’d been thoughtful enough to strip to a pair of athletic shorts on his very first night in the neighborhood.”

“Good food makes me want to hit a punching bag like, Dat's right motherfucker. You done did it there.”

“Man? What man? I thought it was a punching bag!”

“Thinking back, perhaps it took me longer than it should have to guess that he wasn't playing ball, so to speak. In fact, he actually had to punch me in the face get me off him - although he was very apologetic about it afterward.”

“I’ll watch the Final Four when there are three teams playing at once for two titles and one large bag of regrets. That bag is mostly full of air, like a bag of potato chips, only harder to chew.”