You know who you are, standing there with your your hands on your hips and every strand of your silver hair in perfect place. Your continuous stream mocks my bifurcated, paruretic trickle. So does your single, exaggerated shake and the slowness with which you wash and dry your hands. But why hurry, when your prostate is the size of a walnut and just as hard. You are a deluge of truck stop confidence and I raise my gallon-jug of water to you... just as soon as I finish!