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Regis Philbin and I casually strolled through his new palatial mansion. We came to an ornate door with a Roman face carved above it.
Regis puffed with pride.
“Me as a young emperor.”
“Or you at toga parties at Notre Dame.”
“You do know Regis means king.”
“And what does Philbin mean?”
“Lover of horses. I majored in animal husbandry. Until they caught me at it.”
Next morning. The wife handed me a steaming mug and asked how I slept.
“Fine, except for a weird dream.”
“You have to stop eating those spicy Italian sub sandwiches at bedtime.”