A older man who talks like Matlock and looks like flintlock has had a coed cornered outside my office door for about 15 minutes while he jibberjabbered all the travails of his life; all the stuff he didn't get arrested for (because i guess because that was the shorter of the two lists), smokin' 3 packs a day before he was 16, the last time he fell off his dinosaur, etc..
As he was finishing up his verbal tome he said, "I just never could figure out what i wanted to do when I grew up."
"That should be the title of your book," the coed proffered patiently.
"What?" Matlock puffed, "I Don't Want to Be When I Grow Up?"
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