Mojo's masterpiece is now posted on the door to my office. It's working -- people are much less apt to interrupt (or come anywhere near my desk).

When I got to Andre's office last night he was busy adjusting his massage therapist, Yvette. He decided to share with her the 20-something-year-old story of the mishap at the school dance. The story gets better (and longer) every time it's told. It was during a slow dance -- we each had a dance partner, and naturally we circled each other, conjuring mischief. Andre reached between me and my date and pinched my pectoral. "You fuck," I muttered as he circled behind me; I reached back and pinched in return. Suddenly, the girl he was dancing with screamed and ran off.

I was confused.

"Why is she upset that I gave him a purple nurple?"

Hmmm, seems I'd missed. Andre's gut almost ruptured from laughter.

"Yeah, I thought your chest felt a smaller on that one," I said, and tried to put it all behind me.

Yvette laughed politely at his little tale and probably thinks we're both fools. When storytime was over, Andre tried to disconnect my spine and damn-near succeeded.