The Bagman **

An infamous valedictorian, he had little or no idea of how to use the sophisticated gadgetry he now espied on the deck. The flowing silvery mane gave him an air of sophistication. As they then hurtled towards their iconic target, the lights suddenly dimmed. You guessed it. It was time for Vernon’s ball. The barrage was impregnable.

The woman looked down, clearly discomfited. But she did seem friendly and non-judgmental. The view unfurling before them was spectacular, and somewhat unusual. The journey promised to be a potentially life-altering and transformative experience. Although she knew very well this should not be advertised with excessive anticipatory rhetoric.

As she searched the crevices, her enthusiasm though intense, was quite short lived.
There he stood, in a baggy, gray sweat suit, holding up a wall in the wrestling room. In a room otherwise full of guys with immense necks, massive shoulders and columnar thighs, this bespectacled fellow is obviously the one to seek out later this summer on the beaches of L.A. if you want to kick sand in somebody's face.
At last, they sat. Resigned to their fate. Eyes downcast as the dusk settled. Nothing could detract from their unadulterated despair.