I’ll be the first to admit that I’m very manly. However, I’m not manly enough to lift my car over my head to see why my front tire is making a noise that sounds like your washing machine would if you threw a bowling ball in during the spin cycle. So I took my car to a big chain garage who’s name rhymes with Tirestone. I went home to wait for the call asking me to approve repairs that are likely to cost more than the gross national product of a third world country. The dreaded call came about an hour later. “Hello Mr. Phil? Yes, this is Sparky McDipstick down at Tirestone. We checked your car out and it’s going to cost one thousand dollars. Ha! Just kidding.” His delivery was so impeccably deadpan that my hear rate didn’t even hiccup. What I thought: Great. I’ll bet that never gets old. What I said, “Yeah, Ok, what is it?” Apparently encouraged by my overwhelming response to his first attempt at humor he decided to try again. Sparky McDipstick replied, “Well Mr. Phil after we do yadda, yadda, yadda, it comes to three thousand dollars.” Can you say justifiable homicide boys and girls? Good. I knew you could. I wonder if Mr. Funny Auto Mechanic would enjoy it if the roles were reversed some day. If he ever needs to bring his kid to me for therapy I think I’ll conclude the first session by saying, “I’m sorry Mr. Dipstick, but your son is a paranoid schizophrenic and we’re going to have to lock him up for his own safety. Ha! Just kidding!” Can you say poetic justice boys and girls? Good. I knew you could.