Yes. I decided to come back.
Did you lose the bet?
So there I was, sitting by the railroad tracks, just me and my Pop-Tarts and my Florida-Clemson-Broncos parlay ticket and some creepy guy who kept staring at my shoes, waiting for me to fall asleep, when it struck me: I was getting too good! Everybody needs a market correction now and then. Me. Wall Street. Everybody who plays running back for Georgia, at least when they’re not sitting in their dorm room, in a cloud of smoke, next to a bong and an open box of Ho Hos, staring at the same fly for like, I dunno, seven hours, wondering what it would be like to be a fly, then trying to catch the fly, giving up after 12 seconds, then napping for, I dunno, another seven hours. (Hey, did I miss class?)
OK, so my strategy sorta went kaboom last week. Sort of like Custer, whose reported famous last words at Little Big Horn were, “Hurrah boys, we’ve got them!” And then