Joel and I got in the elevator. He asked, “What floor were we on?” I did some math. That morning we got on the elevator with a gorgeous blond woman. She had to stop at floor three, which was two floors below where we started. That would mean we were on floor five.
“Five. Hot chick got off two floors below us, at three.”
“You don’t remember? The blond? Like a foot taller than me?” I pushed the button for five.
“No, I remember, but that’s seriously how you figured it out? I just remembered we were two from the top floor.”
“That does take significantly less math.”
“Paul, what would you do if there weren’t any hot chicks?”
The doors dinged opened, “I’d weep, Joel. I’d cry great tears of sorrow. And I would have no idea where I’m going.”
God With Us!
...like butta' on your toast!
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