JOHN SLATTERY
Left: You’re a priest in a hardscrabble factory-town parish, listening to your brother’s son confess that he has killed a man. Center: You’re a gangsta rapper being informed by a haughty bouncer that you are not on the list. Right: You’re a six-year-old who has skinned his knee in the playground, waiting to cry until your mom gets off her cell phone.
Left: You’re a father teaching his daughter to ride a bike, watching as she takes a header on her first solo try. Center: You’re the cat that ate the canary. Right: You’re a man in denial, figuring that if you don’t listen to your girlfriend’s breakup speech she’ll stick with you.
Left: You’re the surly 14-year-old son of a single mother, steeling yourself as she awkwardly, haltingly begins a belated and unnecessary “birds and bees” talk. Center: You’re at your daughter’s college graduation, and the pretty classmate of hers that you’ve been secretly ogling has just said, “Mr. Lefkowitz, you can’t be 58—you’re too cool!” Right: You’re the valedictorian of your high-school class, having just been introduced to give the speech of your young life—and your mind has gone completely blank.
See the rest here. Super entertaining
