Time Regained

On a chill November evening in 1980, at soccer practice, one of my "teammates" -- a budding Southern cro-Magnon by the name of Kevin Harnes -- whimsically decided to huck a ball at serious velocity into the side of my invitingly wussified skull from a distance of about 2 1/2 yards. The result on my end was suprised humiliation garnished with pain; on his side was the pleasure of momentary admiration from our otherwise bored peers, who were happy to have a distraction from passing drills. When I attempted to enact some form of physical retribution on his body (protected as it was by a premature development of a football-ready combo of lumpish muscle and shock-absorbing fat), this future likely-Dittohead held me at a brawny arms length, while commenting on my inability to physically effect a readjustment of his karmic bank balance by sneering "Whut yoo gonna dooo? Hunh? Whut you gonna dooo?"

Kev, if you haven't been killed in a drunken hunting accident by now, this site's for you. Enjoy!