Make that 300 mph.

The top photo is Barry Jay today, mugging with full effect for the camera. And just below is yours truly as portrayed in my most famous modeling gig as "Timmie", the mascot of Palace Amusements in Asbury Park, New Jersey. (Thanks go to Drew Maniscalco for this one ... funny cat, ain't he?) And directly below me is Sharon. Her resemblance to Jean Harlow is uncanny, isn't it? Sorry, but an actual photo of Sharon is not something I'm going to display without her permission. Having not seen nor spoken to her since September 1980, I think I've a better chance of roasting a snowball before that permission is ever granted.

Barry and myself are about a year apart in age and in 1972-73 we were the best of friends. It may have stretched back to 1971, but I'll have to check with him. Anyway, we were pals. Sometimes Nib would be around and other times Dennis would make the scene. It could have been any mixture of the four of us. I could bore you to tears of blood with our exploits with BB guns and a Super 8mm movie camera. Let's suffice it to say that if it was weird or daring or outright stupid, then our collective fingerprints were on it. I have enormously fun memories of Barry, and Nib and Dennis. And permit me to digress a moment while I publicly apologize to Nib. I once threw an unopened tin can at him while we were on stage in a school play. I struck him in the head without thinking of the consequences. Talk about a supreme asshole. Anyway, I'm sorry, Nib. Seriously.

Somewhere along the line Barry befriended a girl named Sharon (her last name deliberately withheld). I *think* it was through some crazy phone malfunction which is way too complicated to explain. It's the truth though. There was a bizarre crosstalk circuit where several people could speak to one another! So Barry meets Sharon and suddenly she's a part of the mix. That was fine. She was immature and mischevious. So were we. She was also Barry's first lay. And a lucky man he was. Sharon was amazingly well-built, attractive and the object of men's stares wherever she went.

As the months passed, I began to sense an attraction to her. I never really cared for her, but isn't that the way this kind of crap progresses? Two pieces of human anti-matter suddenly attract. Apparently she liked me too. The arresting fragrance of sex was in the air. New sex. And I was gonna get me some of that no matter what. Unfortunately, Barry was the "no matter what." I knew that if he found out Sharon was cheating on him, he'd go berserk. If he did find out and learn that one of his friends was the big dipper, his reaction would make going berserk look downright normal. I couldn't do it to him. Could I? My testicles demanded action and the fateful day occured one snow-filled Sunday afternoon in December 1973. I landed Barry's babe through an all-night telephone call. I remember thinking, 'You're a backstabbing low life ... a gutter turd ... a Brutus ... a Judas Iscariot reincarnate.' Strangely, my testes didn't seem to agree with that assessment. So Sharon and myself made plans to meet so we could ruin everything and everyone.

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