Everybody knows what I look like. I've stated time and again, on this forum and others, that I look like this. In fact, this particular picture is uncannily like looking in a mirror. Same hair parted identically (thinner now), same out-of-style oversize glasses not updated in 25 years, same sloppy t-shirt and cheap jacket.

I'm a bit more jowly, he a bit older, I mediocre on brass instruments, he brilliant on everything, but there are pictures of me which would be difficult to distinguish from that photo.

I could probably make money as an impersonator were I not so private and insular. People often stop and stare.

When my youngest daughter was five years old, she excitedly called her mother while watching a music video: "Mommy, Mommy, come here! Daddy's on TV!"

The video was Clapton's paean to his dead son, Tears In Heaven.

Who do you look like?

I used to look like this:

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But now I look like this:

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Jack

But then I buttoned my shirt: <link>

after, well, you know ...

just keep it quiet, okay?

(nothing about my spikey shoes?)

Me, Before plastic surgery

Me, After plastic surgery

Or have better health insurance than I do.

But I have considerably more money than you.

Incredible wealth always wins out.

Besides, I have been told I'm kind'a cute, and who would know better than a pole dancer named Peaches?

Peaches is nothing but a heartbreaker. I mean, I thought she loved me, but she took all my singles, then went and waved her goodies in another guy's face. Oh, the indignity!

i have been described as "winona ryders less attractive sister"

here's an example:

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and less smart too

That singles was your problem. Had you tucked something printed with the face of a little more obscure President in Peaches' skimpy litle thong she would have stayed at your table as long as you wanted.

I have found that a few President Grants will almost alway assure a full night of Peaches' attention, as long as she sees that you have a few more in your pocket. Going non-presidential with Ben Franklin will provide even more assurance and sincerity of her sometimes fleeting affection. Unfortunately the next guy up the ladder from Mr. Franklin is Woodrow Wilson and I try not to carry those around in my coin purse. The $Hundred-K$ really isn't all that much good as an object of commerce anyway, since the car wash bill slot won't accept them and the Tote-Sum wont take anything bigger than a 20 after 8:00 pm anyway. Mostly they are limited these days to the transfer of money from bank to bank inside well secured vaults in Atlanta or places like that. Takes remarkably few of them to move a mil from my account to someone else's, when you think about it.

Regarding rented affection, what did Willie Nelson sing to the lady who owned that Cadillac?

"If you've got no more money, then I've got no more time."

I'm suspicious Peaches keeps the words to that country ballad, close to those splendid bosoms she so proudly displays.

I could be wrong.

I've been told I look like this chick.

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Jhirmack?