Came home last night and found Pacman Jones on my porch. Aargh. Not again.

"Dance for me, bitch!" he ordered, waving his gun around recklessly.

"I'm not a dancer," I told him.

"Nonsense!" he shouted back. "I wanna make it rain for you, girl!"

"I'm not a girl," I calmly told him. "I'm not a dancer and I'm not a girl."

This information seemed to confuse Pacman Jones. He furled is eyebrows at me as if to verify my claim that I was neither a dancer nor a girl.

"Damn, you're right," he said. "Where the hell am I?"

Then I took him into my arms and gave him a great big hug. "It's going to be all right, Pacman," I told him. "It's going to be all right."

This post is dedicated to Hollywood Henderson.