My friend asked me, "Quick! Quick! What's the ninth letter of the alphabet?"

I admit that I guessed, but I was right.

A long time ago, while traveling in north Africa, I fell in love with the cuisine so I bought cookbook while I was in Morocco.

When I came back to the States -- that's what we experienced travelers call America -- I made some of the recipes. The one for biscuits called for fresh thyme, but I only had an old jar of dried stuff so I used it and added a tad extra water. We chefs learn to adapt.

The biscuits turned out well; as I reminisce, I liked that old thyme Moroccan roll.

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Ahhh.

Ahhh who?

Werewolves of London.

I know a guy who works as a custodian and gardener at a nearby apartment building, and sometimes I earn a couple extra bucks by lending him a hand when he's got a particularly big workload.

He's got some bad habits, though. He asked me if he wanted to share a joint while we were on a break.

I declined. I didn't want to deal with a high maintenance guy.