I didn’t feel sorry for myself long. Not once the screaming started. I sat up the way that wrestler The Undertaker does after his opponent is sure ...e’s out cold, there’s no possible way that… whoa! Kind of like there’s a spring attached to the underside of his back that shoots the top half of his body up so that his opponent just about shits his pants realizing The Undertaker is one bad motherfucker and it’s going to take a whole lot more than a measly couple of DDTs for THIS three-count. I. So, we were eight in total and “the nibbles” consisted of the huge table in the dining room groaning under the weight of a hot and cold buffet. I introduced Tony to John and Helen and she said, “Wonderful to meet you. I’m really glad you could make it this time. Your poor wife sat all quiet in a corner without you, didn’t you Jenny? Couldn’t join in all the fun at all, could you dear?” I smiled. “I was fine, Helen, enjoyed the show just fine. I like to watch.” “Yes, well, if you say so,” she. More

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