If you define "mad" as lacking reason and appearing somewhat deranged then yes, I have "mad" flirting skills.
The quickest way to find out the time is to order a beer at breakfast with your mother.
Fat demons need exorcise.
Ugh, nobody reminded me and I let the bedbugs bite.
Nothing makes me question my manhood while at work more than the times I need to change the bottle on the water cooler.
Watching Hugh Hefner have sex must be like watching someone try to puncture a Capri Sun pouch with an earthworm.
Thinking of visiting the Alzheimer's wing of the nursing home and pretending to be everyone's grandson again for the free hugs.