“The cute girl at the bar asked for my number. I told her I’m number one. Then I gave her the area code and the following seven digits.”

“Age is just a number. So is my area code.
”

“My penis is seven. Not years old or even inches. No, my genitalia is the prime number seven. Isn’t that odd?”

“I remember my first cell phone number still. I may call it and ask to speak to myself from eight years ago. If they say I have the wrong number I’ll tell them, No, right number, wrong time.”

“Thanks,” I said, “have a great day.” And I turned to leave. Damn! I am such a coward. Next time I’ll get her number, I told myself, even though I said the exact same thing sixty-some dollars ago. I needed a plan. I needed an event to take her to. What did I think I was going to do, ask her out to coffee?”

“Number one on my list of things to do before I die is become immortal. Obviously there is no number two on my list.”

“The number I had for her didn’t work. But in this depression, could you blame it?”