There was this one party in college where we were at a house rented by some friends of ours and I was inside the house and my buddy (now my brother-in-law, but that’s a whole ‘nother story) Travis was out on the porch and one of the girls who was out on the porch with Trav started to tell a wildly inappropriate story even by the standards of college parties and, as she is telling this story, Trav sits down on the window sill on the porch and, in what I will believe to my dying day was an instance of Divine intervention to prevent the telling of this story, he sat down harder than he meant to and he shattered the window behind him with his butt.
As I said, I was inside the house, so I didn’t see it, but I heard it, and, speaking as someone who heard it, I can only say that the sound of this window shattering approximated the sound of a glass house---a glass palace, really---shattering after a helicopter hovering a hundred feet above the glass palace had dropped on top of the glass palace a grand piano . . . made entirely of glass.
For reasons entirely unrelated to his having broken a window with his butt in spectacularly shatterrific fashion, Trav went on to marry my sister-in-law and, for six years, he and I co-hosted a local cable television show about Georgia football, and now he’s an advanced placement psychology teacher who has been recognized as a STAR Teacher by one of his students, who (the student, not Trav; try to keep up) also happened to be a really accomplished student on the mock trial team I have coached for the last couple of years.
All of which is to say, I know from personal experience that a fellow can break something made of glass with his butt and turn out to be a damn good ‘Dawg.
Welcome to Bulldog Nation, Orson Charles.