Indeed there have been many a great thing said. But who can forget the life-altering experience of recording yourself and figuring out that none of those great things will ever be said with a voice as retarded as you own. Of course, there are those few gods among us whose true natures are only revealed over the nets of ramblings that criss cross this massive land. One of these people is my man, the big guy himself, Tim. When he speaks, his voice booms over the lines, dripping with masculinity, exclaiming such grandeur as "For I am Tim, The Mightiest Warrior This Side of Hucksklville!" Uh, but Tim, Hucksklville is like two miles that way. "Uh, Yeah I Know And With The Pacific On The Other Side Of Me, It's Really Not A Very Big Area, But Still I Am Tim! BWAGRA!" At which point he breaks into tears and runs in little circles screaming about the importance of breast implants in race horses. Then he needs a nice forty-five minute sit in a mountain meadow on a sunny day without his shoes on. Wouldn't that do us all good? I'm for you buddy, but the only meadow I know of is well east of Hucksklville, and who knows when the Mightiest Man from that area also wants to relax himself. Tricky Tricky.