My Name's Ken... and I'm a snorer. ("Hi, Ken!")

So, it pains me to say this.

... and I really don't have to, now that I think of it...

But Vicky told me the other day what I never wanted to hear. I mean, for years, I've gotten by with sleep disorders no more embarrassing than driving on the 15 freeway in my sleep.

Now, Vicky tells me that I snore.

Can I tell you just how wrong that is?

I roomed with Tim - he never told me I snored - and HE WOULD KNOW! That man's snores could peel paint!... in another building!!! Of all the women I've slept with - and there are so many, me being the world's greatest (and least known) lover - none ever told me I snored.

So, great, you know? Just great! The woman I want to marry brings out the snorer in me!

What am I going to do? Try stuffing coffee grounds into my nose? No, that might keep me awake. Remove my nose with a rusty band saw? No, that might mess up the sheets. Oh, there are other methods. I could get a nose ring. That would be good. Right?

Hey! What am I thinking? I'm not the only one who snores!

That's right. We are, as a couple, two for two when it comes to snoring. So, we can torture each other. And, if it gets too bad, Vicky can point me to the car and let me drive out to the middle of the desert on the I-15... where I'll bother fewer people...