My memory of the evening is hazy. I don’t remember where we were before the drive up Old San Marcos Road, where we went afterward, or even how we ended up making the decision to go there in the first place. It must have been the sweet motivation of high-school aged hormones mixed with the freedom of a Friday night.

It is not just the weird fact of two sixteen-year old couples sharing a make-out session in a 1977 black Cordoba or the Sheriff deputy surprise. It is not just the giggles, goofs and grunts that emanate from the front seat that highlight my memories of the event. Nor is it the unadorned passion of youth, restrained by faith. It is all of that and more.

I remember long moments of clothed bliss lying in the back seat with Janelle. The breath, the pulse, the kisses…the several long, very long, kisses…the sweater, the jeans; the young bodies doing what bodies do when they are in anticipation of something greater. I touch somewhere I’ve never touched and she does not mind.

It is also punctuated with giggles from the front seat. My best friend, Brad, and his girlfriend, Brenda, trying to get comfortable in the electric seats. The grunts, both of human and leather-seat origin, as they shift and giggle until momentary comfort is found.

Then quiet. For a minute or two. Until some pressure on one body part or another becomes too great to bear; or a foot, knee, elbow or hand mistakenly depresses the electric window switch.

Then, whispers of “Oh my God, close it!” and more shifting, giggling and grunting.

Condensation from the windows and the t-tops is dripping on us. The lips are chapping, tongues touch delicately. I breathe in as she exhales, taking as much of her in as I can.

The heat, the humidity, are nothing to us; we are rapt with the sensuality of the moment, the anticipation that we know we will not fulfill, making the breath, the lips, the touches more pregnant with sensation. We are caught up in the streaming current of innocent love.

Oddly, Brad and Brenda move to the driver’s seat. Then a hoarse whisper from Brenda saying, “What…is…that?!” followed by an “I’m sorry,” from Brad , followed by an “I can’t believe you got one already!” and “I’m not touching it!” from Brenda.

Where occasionally Brenda’s rear end hits the horn and the giggling up front becomes uncontrollable until out and out laughter ensues. Then the predictable tap of the Maglite® flashlight against the passenger window as an amused Sherriff deputy arrives. By now, Brad and Brenda are in hysterics.

Janelle and I remain quiet in the backseat, she resting her head on my chest; the quickened breath, the tension of legs wrapped around legs; the laughter that threatens to rise from Janelle’s breast.

The fog on the windows apparently mask us, mercifully, from the deputy’s view. For he has kindly kept his lights off and therefore assumes Brad and Brenda are alone in the car. Brad is asked to drive to a safer area and our lingering moment is over.

We sit up. The perspiration cools snappily in the air from the open window. We sit close, body heat radiating, dissipating our passion. I ask Jessica forgiveness for touching where I touched. She smiles and says it is okay. I say we must be careful. She smiles and says that, yes, we must.

It is a memory of teenage passion, romance and humor. Of a time when dreams were large and sex was new. When laughter accompanied passion in a disturbingly twisted, yet somehow unbelievably poignant night.

And now, we share the memories by phone, laughing over and over again about the “good old days”; of a 25-year old memory that no matter how close we were then draws us even closer now.

Those really were the good old days, and they feed into today, making the present even more incredible. Making today the “good old days” as well.

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Note: Jessica, my wife, thought this was a bit racy but also thought the story too good not to share.

photo credits: L. Brumm Photography, [JP] Corrêa Carvalho,eschipul

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I met Sean Platt through Twitter a couple of months ago. From there I discovered his blogs and have enjoyed his work tremendously. When I had the opportunity to guest post a blog for him, I jumped at it. Numb Nuggets is very proud to have Sean as a guest.

One of my favorites of his (how do I pick?) is Yo Recuerdo Mi Papí – I Remember My Papi. You HAVE to read this touching story.

I hope you en joy this as much as I do.

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Though I love the idea of tangible,
tactile experience and would never discount the value of reading a book over its online baby brother, I ran a preschool for three and a half years. Believe me, after opening the doors of a preschool five days a week and raising two children of my own, I’ve seen enough homemade arts and crafts for my own lifetime along with any seedling I’ll have for the next three generations.

I preface this story with the above paragraph so you won’t think I’m a monster. The other day, I was caught red-handed tossing one of my daughter’s art projects directly into the garbage.

My daughter is a born artist, and both my wife, Cindy and I do all we can to encourage her creativity, but between she and my son (a budding author/illustrator himself) we know we would be swept away in their creative tornadoes if we did nothing to keep the torrent under control.

It is already endless at home, but adding to the cycle, they each bring waves of paper home from school each day. We look at everything, put what we can through the scanner, and then sometimes toss some of it away when no one is looking.

We harbor the best and know without a doubt that more is always on the way.

Most often, Cindy and I dispose of the excess evidence of childhood behind the forgiving shadows of night. The children are sleeping and closed lids see no evil deeds. New production is at a constant, we cling to the most obviously valuable, and our children never seem to notice notice.

The other day, however, I found myself lost in the focus of a cleaning binge and didn’t realize I was tossing a masterpiece with my daughter standing right behind me. She stared at me, her eyes drifting from dots to marbles, saying without speaking I had shattered the world beneath her.

What could I do?

Own it. Just as I would expect from either one of my children, I made zero excuses. I simply spun my head and fixed my eyes on hers. “I’m sorry,” I said, bending to my knee and curling her fingers into my palm. “I was cleaning and got careless. I should have been more aware.”

“That’s okay, Daddy!” she chirped, the smile returning to her face like the sun through parting clouds. “Now I can make some more!”

About the author:
Sean Platt is a dad and occasional potty training expert. Subscribe to his feed here.

photo credits: normanack, david.nathan.cox, majorvol

Inspired by my good friends’ prank on me I decided to troll the recesses of my childhood mind and do a little research in order compile my current five favorite practical jokes. I present them in no particular order of preference.

The criteria were:

• Nothing mean
• Stay away from the classics (like rubber-banding the kitchen sprayer or balancing a glass of water on the door your friend will be walking through)
• EXTREME EMPHASIS on doing it all in good fun.
  

1. Wake Up!
Your best buddy sleeps late on the day you are planning to go fishing, hunting, biking or whatever and you miss the best time of day for your favorite activity.

So, buy a bag of marbles and put them in the freezer. When it just feels right, sneak into your buddy’s bedroom while he/she is still asleep and pour the frozen marbles under the covers. Their body weight on the mattress will ensure the marbles all roll up against their nice warm body, giving them quite a jolt.

This works better than ice water because you don’t have a wet mess to deal with after you have stopped laughing at the dance your friend makes while trying to get away from the frozen little demons!

2. You Smell Like Chicken
During a visit to your friends’ house, excuse yourself to the restroom. While there put a chicken bouillon cube in the shower head. The next time he takes a shower, a subtle fragrance will grace his gloriously naked body. I’ve never tried this myself and look forward to giving it a shot. However, I am told the “target” does not notice it, but people around him do.

3. Invite the Most Diligent People in the World to Visit Your Friend
Get the address of your friend’s local Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Send them a letter saying something like “I have been an agnostic all my life, but am feeling there IS something more. I would like help to find out if there is a God.”

Your friend should get several visits, at least, out of this. I know. A friend did it to me. I ended up studying with those two gentleman for a year. I admire their commitment, etc., but finally had to tell them their faith is not for me.

So, Tracy and Chris, if you ever read this I mean no offense to you or any people of your faith. This actually proves how much you can be counted on to reach out to others!

4. Oh No, I Just Ran Over My Chihuahua!
Take a plastic bag, fill it with feathers or fur and some hamburger meat. Using duct tape, secure the bag filled with the tasty treat on the underside of the mower blade housing, above the blade. As your friend mows the vibrating will slowly shake the bag loose. When that thing hits the spinning blade, the fur and “guts” will spew across the lawn.

This works best if your friend has a small pet.

It is especially fun on a riding lawnmower. I tried this one to see if it would work. It did. It surprised me so much, I blew beer through my nose when that bag dropped, even though I expected it. I found that using the tape only on the corners of the bag worked best. Took about 1/2 hour for the bag to hit the blades. Haven’t used it on anyone yet, however. (Note: I do not advocate drinking while lawn-mower driving).

5. Frozen Shaving Cream Bomb:
I really want to try this one! Visit The Institute of Practical Jokes, Pranks, and Trickery and check it out.

Bonus Pranks:
1. Carrot Seeds
When your good buddy is not home, take some carrot seeds and spell out a message on his/her lawn. Don’t be mean, just funny. It’ll take some time for the seeds to germinate, but when they do they’ll have a difference shade of green than the grass. If no mowing has taken place, so much the better!

The cool thing about this prank is your friend will have a healthy snack when all is said and done!

2. The Head on This Rum-Coke is Amazing!
Freeze Mentos into ice cubes and then serve them in any cocktail that contains some sort of seltzer in it, such as Coca-Cola or 7-Up.

One of my favorite(You may have seen this before, but I can watch it over and over and never get bored!):

Here is The Best Video Prank Ever

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Related Books and Things:
The Practical Joker’s Handbook
Causing a Scene: Extraordinary Pranks in Ordinary Places with Improv Everywhere
Stuff Every Man Should Know
Cloud Flite Exploder – The Ball That Will Vanish in a Cloud Upon Impact

photo credits: sketchr,eschipul

In honor of the impending 10-year anniversary of the San Antonio Spurs’ first NBA championship over the New York Knicks on June 25, 1999, I present the following in no particular order of preference.

Trust me: you will find more than one of these inspiring, if not downright amazing.

Greg Louganis’ Olympic Diving
It is hard to watch this man dive without thinking he is a machine. Until you read his personal story (Breaking the Surface) and hear what he has to say in this video. Talk about finding your talent, combining it with passion and executing the discipline to take it all the way!

“Then there is Greg Louganis.” Awesome.

Nadia Comaneci’s Performance at the 1976 Olympics
She was not only the first to “show the world a perfect 10″, she garnered seven. Then she showed the world what a class act she is as she matured and poured her passion for the sport into her family and coaching. Her story is available on Kindle here: Letters to a Young Gymnast – if you so desire.

Trinity University’s Football Finish – 2007
Just an unbelievable play.

I’m proud to say one of my best buddies played for Trinity University (previous seasons).

The World’s Largest Wave Ever Surfed
OMG!

David Robinson retiring with the NBA Championship trophy in hand
Why did I pick this? Because whether you are a Spurs fan or not, it is hard to argue with the reality that David Robinson was and still is a man of tremendous character and integrity, a true role model in all regards! One of the best human beings to have played professional sports.

The best moment begins 3:43 into it.

As a Spurs fan, that was the culmination for me. Any success of the team after that evening is just gravy.

A Story About Never Giving Up
Dan Jansen FINALLY winning gold! If you watched these Olympic games, it was impossible to keep yer butt on the sofa when he came around that last turn and put it away. (If you would like to read his acclaimed book, you can find it here: Full Circle: An Olympic Champion Shares His Breakthrough Story)

Bonus
One person’s take on the 10 best sports moments ever
Does poker qualify as a “sport”? Nevertheless, this is pretty cool!

Onto the Bus She Comes
Like most of my college mates who decided to live in the city rather than in our university’s town village, I ride the bus to school quite often. I have to get up with the sun, walk a mile down the hill to the bus stop at the beach and hop on line number five for the first leg of my commute.

One gorgeous autumn morning, I take my seat on the bus and pull out my books to study. At each stop, I glance up to watch who gets on and off. At this time of day there is usually an assortment of elderly, the homeless, grammar school and high school ages kids and community college students.

At the bus stop across from a Kentucky Fried Chicken a young woman carrying a bouquet of carnations steps quietly onto the bus. She is wearing black sweatpants, a new, blue jeans jacket and a pink blouse that looked like overdone cotton candy. Perched comfortably over her tightly braided black hair is a bright blue Dodgers baseball cap.

She breezes past my seat in her white tennis shoes and takes the seat directly behind me. The faint aroma of dyed carnations lingers under my nostrils while her quiet mien rests comfortably in front of my back. I shift uneasily in my seat and try to focus on my studies, the pressure of her presence imposing itself upon my awareness.

The bus lurches from stop to stop and my mind returns to my studies. Kids tell obscene jokes and laugh louder than necessary, repeating the vulgar punch lines for the benefit of the rest of the passengers. An older blind man coughs spasmodically until his infected lungs send a plug of sputum into his throat. He retrieves his cane from the floor and spits out the window. A tap on my shoulder excuses me from my book.

Transparency
Her voice says, “I bought these flowa’s for my Gramma.”

I turn to acknowledge her statement.

“Really.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Don’t they smell nice?” She holds the bouquet up so I can smell.

“Yes, they do,” I reply.

“Yeah, these are for my Gramma ‘cuz she ain’t alive no more.” She pauses, looking into the bouquet. “My Gramma, she like flowa’s.”

I do not know what to say.

“Really,” I say.

“Yeah, she’s living over there now.” She points through the homes and hills and trees to the cemetery where her grandmother’s grave awaits.

Why is she telling me this?

“What school do you go to?” she asks.

“The University,” I tell her. “And you?”

“This one,” she says as the bus pulls up to the stop in front of the city college.

I pick up my notebook and replace it with my knee so I can turn further around.

“When did she die?” I ask. I want to help.

“Thursday,” she says. Today is Tuesday.

“Wow, that’s not very long ago.”

“Nope,” she replies.

“Were you close to your grandma?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says. “We was real close.”

She looks down and I study her face. Purple eyeliner is drawn perfectly above her eyelashes and she wears bright red lipstick that beautifully compliments the brown skin of her face. A shy smile flickers across her lips and she looks up. I look away.

“We was talking last night,” she goes on. “Me an’ my gramma. I woke up an’ she was there an’ I says, ‘Gramma, you didn’t die!’.”

“It was a dream, though,” she sighs.

“Yeah, that happened to me with my father, ” I tell her.

I dreamed once that my father came back home for a short time. I begged him not to leave again, but he couldn’t stay.

Neither of us has to say anything about how it feels to wake up to the truth: the agonizing disappointment and emptiness; the heart racing to keep ahead of the fear that stalks it; the aching aloneness that squeezes the chest and grips the throat, threatening to stop the breath.

She looks at her flowers and smiles, lost in memories. Her smile is a little girl’s smile. She greets her grandmother’s death with a naivete and calm acceptance I envy.

“How old was your grandma?” I ask.

She was eighty-three.”

“Was she happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it seems she lived a full life.”

“She sure did,” she replies, and then longingly, “She was a beautiful old lady.”

“I bet she was,” I reply.

She responds with that childlike smile and looks down at the flowers, her head tilted slightly to one side. I look out the window and watch the cars and bicycles whiz by the sleepy downtown shops.

Things Turn
“Is your dad dead, too?” she asks.”

“Yes.”

“How old was he?”

“Fifty-one.”

“Ooh, that’s young!” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply.

My mind walks back in time and enters the hospital room where my father spent his last days. Images and sounds from ten years ago stream through my head. I see my father, who was once strong and healthy, lying on the hospital bed, tubes coiling from his emaciated body. The thirteen year old kid that stood next to the bed, holding his father’s tired hand starts to cry, and I have to turn toward the front of the bus.

I remember the time he told my younger brother and me to get out of his hospital room and when we did, he screamed in agony while he waited for the nurse to bring him another morphine shot. The screams echoed down that hospital hallway and onto the bus. I became angry at his pain; angry at my loss.

“What happened to your dad?” she asks.

I tell her about the cancer and that my father received the diagnosis on my thirteenth birthday and died just over three months later.

She smiles slightly and said, “Life is funny sometimes.”

I tell her it certainly is, though the word “funny” in this context has nothing to do with fun.

Things Heal
The bus pulls into the transit center and we say goodbye to each other. I sit on the bench waiting for my next bus and watch her board hers.

I envy her.

I had wanted to help, and instead she had helped me. She helped me to see the futility of my anger, the inevitability and necessity of death.

I envy her because she is going to go to her grandmother’s grave and tell her grandmother she misses her and that she loves her.
This girl is doing what I have not yet been able to do. She is taking flowers and mourning properly. She is letting the pain and longing out, allowing them their way rather than keeping it all inside to fester and boil, infecting other chambers of the soul.

She accepts the death calmly. For as far as she is concerned she still has a grandmother, only now her grandmother lives inside her mind and heart. Her grandmother’s life now blossoms within her soul, the seeds of love having been planted.

All that is needed now are the cleansing rain of tears and freshly turned soil of the heart.

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Note: While sitting on the bench, waiting for my next bus, I wrote down this true account of a wonderful few moments I had the pleasure of experiencing one day while I was in college.

Some books I have found helpful for the grieving process:

• For The Tough Times: Reaching Toward Heaven for Hope
• Sit Down, God…I’m Angry
• The Road Less Traveled, 25th Anniversary Edition : A New Psychology of Love, Traditional Values and Spiritual Growth

photo credits: wohnai, DeusXFlorida, ali_i, ohhhbetty, Tony the Misfit

Some of the best friends in life are those you hardly ever have to say a word to.

They are there for you in good times and bad, offering help and laughter as they can.

They pretty much understand you and accept those things about you they do not understand.

After a fight, they forgive and move on; often times the friendship is deeper after having weathered the storm.

Then some friends do things completely off the wall. At your expense. And laugh about it. These are often the best friends of all.

Follow me here, folks:

We live in the country and have a long driveway next to which we put up a simple address sign using pipe, chain, a block of wood and some stenciled numbers. It pretty much looked like this:

My family are friends with another family, we’ll call the McNubbins. One evening Mrs. McNubbin backed up our driveway and ran over our address sign. She said she felt terrible about it and would have it fixed asap.

At first I was very understanding and said, “No problem. We’ll fix it. No biggie.” Then I remembered something: I am usually the one that puts my foot in it. Consequently, I am usually the one that gets it, mostly from the Great Mr. McNubbin who is known for his quick wit and complete lack of mercy for his subjects.

Therefore, I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to “give a little back” to the McNubbins. I text-messaged Mrs. McNubbin, “New license, second day?” And when we were driving down our driveway with visiting family I texted “We’re having a hard time finding the house because the address sign is gone.”

That evening, around 9:15 PM my son came to me in the dining room and told me he had just received a text message from Mrs. McNubbin saying the sign had been fixed. I looked at my phone and had the same message.

At first, I thought, “Wow, at night on a Sunday? That’s nice of them.” Then I thought, “At night on a Sunday. Crap.” I know the McNubbins. This was going to be interesting, at best.

So I walk out in the dark to see what the damage was and what I saw made me almost pee from laughing. Then I heard the McNubbins start laughing (they were waiting in the dark further up the driveway). They came down and both families had a good, long laugh, especially about the ideas they had, thankfully, NOT implemented.

It is such a perfect sign, I told them they don’t need to worry about getting me a birthday or Christmas present this year. This will do.

Here is my new sign:

And you know what? I’m leaving it up!

Thank God we live in the country.

Now, to clarify, it takes more than a toilet in your front yard to qualify you as a Redneck. I’m one step closer, but not there yet!

Oh, and by the way, my oldest boy helped them set it up.

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If you enjoyed this post PLEASE VOTE FOR IT here. Thank you!

photo credits: my cheap camera phone

The Doubt
“I think he’ll need to do the Tornado Axe this time,” I whispered to my Tae Kwon Do instructor, Master Jerry, as he picked up a board and headed across the floor. He ignored me.

“Simon,” Master Jerry said as he walked. “Saturday is your test for purple belt. Tonight you decide what break you will be doing. Have you been practicing any breaks?”

Since Simon is high-functioning autistic, he has sometimes been given a choice of breaking techniques to use rather than having to do the assigned break for his belt level. They are comparable breaks; this just means he will not be held back if he simply is unable to perform the standard breaks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ok, which ones?”

“Tornado axe and back round house.”

He could do a tornado axe break easy. But, I had been coaching him on the back round house (sometimes called spinning back kick) break for three weeks, since that is the assigned break for purple belts in our School. He had yet to hit the easier practice board in the proper place, let alone break it.

So, Master Jerry asked Simon, “Which one are you going to do?”

“Back round house.”

“Crap,” I thought,”He’s not up to that one.”

“Ok,” Master Jerry responded. “Are you sure? Because what you pick tonight is what you will be tested on this Saturday.”

“You don’t want to try the Tornado Axe Kick you and I practiced, Simon?” I interjected.

Master Jerry, without turning toward me waved me down with a terse “tch!”. I knew I had stepped out of line.

“I’m sure.”

“Ok, sounds good.”

The Challenge
So, here my instructor was going to have my son attempt to break a real board, using a technique he had not come close to having success with before, without a warm-up break on the practice board.

Master Jerry got set up properly and reminded Simon of the drill: “Measure … set … relax … go.”

Simon focused on the board, turned, lifted and “crack!” his heal when right into Master Jerry’s fingers, smashing them into the board.

Master Jerry winced, shook his hand, got setup and said, “Again.”

Same result.

“Again, Simon.”

Same result.

“Ugghhh!” Simon said. His face was turning red, a sure sign he was getting frustrated.

“Again, Simon. Lower.”

“Master Jerry…”, he told me to shut up with a wave of his hand, interrupting me. I could almost hear his Army Colonel voice saying, “Keep your mouth shut, Lieutenant, or you will regret the day your mom even thought of having you.”

Here I was, dad and assistant instructor, having a hard time staying instructor.

“Measure…set…relax…”

Same result.

Master Jerry’s fore- and middle-fingers were turning red.

“Again, Simon. Lower. This is it.”

Simon started getting set.

“You think this is it, Simon?” Master Jerry asked.

“Yes,” Simon replied with a relaxed, though still red, face.

“Ok,” Master Jerry said. “Whenever you are ready.”

Simon focused, turned, lifted his leg in a beautiful arc, his foot snapping in orbit around the axis of his knee, perfectly timed, head turning through, eye on the board, heal driving through it like a hot knife through butter.

Master Jerry slapped the two halves of the board together with a “clack!”, straightened up, handed the boards to Simon and said, “Good job. You’ll do that on Saturday just fine.”

Simon had a smile on his face, nodded his head up and down, and turned toward the restroom to change his clothes.

Master Jerry then looked at me briefly, austerely, the gentleness in his eyes a perfect counterpoint to the sternness of his mouth and furrows in his brows. It was only a split second, but it lasted for ever.

I did not need him to speak a word because I had trained with him long enough. With that look he had told me, “Don’t interrupt my work and don’t EVER underestimate your son.”

Then he turned and walked over to tidy up the Do Jang. I followed to help.

Lesson learned.

The Hero

On Saturday, Simon’s homeroom teacher, his full-time school aide and the school nurse showed up to watch him test. He broke the board on his first try to great applause from everyone and to hoots and hollers from those who know of his disability.

After the test, at our celebration lunch, I asked Simon why he chose the back round-house.

“Because that’s what all purple belts break for their tests. I wanted the real purple belt.”

People don’t often know what others have to overcome to achieve what they do. This board break was only one of many times in which I have seen Simon face the adversity of his physical and mental limitations.

I think one thing we have done right with Simon is never tell him he can not acheive something. I came close to doing that one day in our Tae Kwon Do school. And thanks to a wise Master, I was cut short.

Inside Simon is a heart beating with such love, such joy and such determination; he possesses such gut-level drive to overcome adversity that I am often brought up short when I take stock of my own life after witnessing him take on another challenge with 100-percent heart.

This is one of many reasons why my Simon is my hero.

I love you, Simon. Your old man has a lot to learn from you!

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photo credits: mksfly, fgcp035,

H

I shall never be able to scale the lofty peaks of disgusting finds the lovely Tracey O’Connor so wondrously navigates on her blog, I Hate My Message Board. However, I promised on Twitter that when I hit 300 followers I would post something disgusting (or at least attempt to).

What I had in mind fell through: a series of disgustingly hilarious videos of my pets doing things; the types of things that make 8-year old boys pee their pants from laughing and 8-year old girls go, “GROoossss!” and parents go “I can’t believe my precious kids just witnessed that.” Alas, the videos are not to be found.

So, I set about finding random disgusting things and became enamored with these. I hope you find them as equally entertaining as I did:

1. Brett Durrett shows off his bottle of fifteen-year old milk. Wonder if it has the same kick as moonshine?

2. Okay, I have four brothers. We’ve done some stuff in our lives. Maybe even once or twice done something similar to this, I am ashamed to admit. But, that a health club would have to post this? Gimme that gym membership ASAP. Not!

3. Need a little pinch between the cheek and gums? How about some pealed skin from a sunburn? I’m looking for dinner right now!

4. I love this little guy. But, he reminds me of the way one of my best friends growing up described the “aura” one of her dates gave off. I’m sorry little bat dude, little so-damned-ugly-you-are-cute carmudgeon, you look like the personification of a pasty, 8-armed, slimy-tongued, narcissistic philanderer.