Reading Truman. A lot of people read David McCullough's 1120 page masterpiece, but how many people read it for free, in dozens of bookstores, over more than a year?
Yellow Card. I admit it. I'm proud to have been yellow-carded during pregame introductions.
Large and in charge. When I was still in college, my boss at EDS had the good sense to put me in charge when she was leaving town. She made the announcement, then left. I immediately closed the office. She later recounted driving to the airport and being being passed by her own employees.
"There is no more." This has happened three times in my life. I order a Maker's Mark, and the bartender replies that there is no more. "You drank it all."
Stinky wives. I love—love—sending other mens' wives home reeking of cigars. Bonus pride: when the husband sniffs them, wrinkles his nose in disgust, and guesses who they were with.
Penetrating her and pumping her full of fluids. Fun fact: one time I gave a future girlfriend a fertility injection in order to help her and another guy conceive. (They didn't.)
Bobby Knight. When I was playing basketball at the Bloomington, Indiana YMCA, I noticed Bobby Knight looking our direction. I pulled up for a 30-foot shot and made it. We will not discuss my ungainly form or his utter lack of reaction. I made it.
Embarrassing Mike Tomczak. You know.
Very very bad bad. I was attending a business lecture with Annie, perhaps the kindest person I've ever known. The talk was put on by a blind man named Peter Wang. Mindful of Annie's sweet disposition, I managed to restrain my mirth over his name, but then he put on the most moronic talk I've ever heard. I was dying. D-y-i-n-g. When the slide "72% cases of blindness can be corrected with vision" appeared on the screen, I lost all bowel control. I roared with laughter. In my notebook, Annie scrawled "You are a very very bad bad man." I still have this.