If loving Publix is wrong, then I don't want to be right.

And the ironing thing -- that's gotta be from Fatone blood because the only thing that keeps me from wearing something is the sniff-test (and even there I often grade on a curve). I recall the prep for RoseAnne's wedding -- Bazzukajoe, standing half in the hotel-room closet, working feverishly with a hand-held steamer to blast wrinkles from his suit pants.

"He doesn't want people to think he's got a topographic map drawn on his ass," was the comment I made in an attempt to be snide. But for Frylock, that just reminded him of school:

"Wow," he said. "That's like a terrible classroom assignment: 'for extra credit, please use the terms topographic map and Joey's ass in the same sentence.'"

Education is indeed wasted on the young. (And on us, apparently.)