Last Sunday, I saw a bunch of dirty old men sitting in a lobby, drinking whiskey, smoking crack, and blowing up inflatable love-sheep, and as attractive teenage girls would walk by, the guys would say things like “I wouldn’t mind slippin’ my disk into her floppy drive,” and “I wouldn’t mind spelunking her cave,” and “I wouldn’t mind inserting my penis into her vagina,” and every two or three minutes, the clan clown (whose nickname is “Stickflipper,” because, ever since preschool, he’s been “flippin’ the stick,” which is to say “masturbating compulsively”) would turn to his buddies and say something like “They say chicks dig a guy with a sense of humor — let’s test that hypothesis, shall we?” and then, turning to a girl who had just walked in, “Hey, is that a piece of cottage cheese in your teeth, or does your girlfriend have a yeast infection?” but after the guys had been harassing people for half an hour or so, an unruly gang of elderly ladies (who were brandishing tire irons, cattle prods, and a noose for lynching the instigator — the infamous Stickflipper) stormed into the room screaming, “How dare you heathens carry on like this in the church lobby!?”