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Once, I heard this story—some chick in Vegas got paid in casino chips! True story, swear on my Duff! She’s all, “Cash me out, baby!”—hilarious, right? I’m laughin’, but then—D’oh!—I’m sad again, ‘cause it’s messy, ya know? These gals got lives, and here I am, a doofus, oglin’ ‘em. “Blessed are the forgetful,” I mutter, wishin’ I could zap this night outta my skull like Joel and Clem. Maybe I’ll stick to donuts—safer, cheaper, and Marge won’t kill me! D’oh!

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Next up, I had this girl, Sofia. She was a total opposite of Marco. Super confident, like she owned the road. We’re driving down Via Garibaldi, and she’s blasting some pop music. I’m trying to teach her about roundabouts, and she’s singing at the top of her lungs. I’m like, “Sofia, focus!” But she’s in her own world. Honestly, I kinda loved it.

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