"So I heard you're the best."

I looked across the table at my newest pupil, Ben, holding his pitiful essay in both of his hands.  His hair was unbrushed, his girlfriend had just broken up with him, and he clearly didn't know how to use a semicolon.

When you are a male working in the counseling center of a megachurch you will hear lots of stories of men and their struggles with lust.

Once a nervous little man with a dead-end job and a wife with control issues confessed to me he had a thing for the Progressive Insurance Girl.

Not being real up on TV at the time I asked. "What girl is that?"

"You know," he told me, a little annoyed at my lack of savvy. "The insurance girl. That one with the white uniform and the black kinda flipped-up hair and that headband ..." His eyes glazed a bit and he fidgeted with his hands. "Wears that sort of heavy makeup. Real cute." 

Even at the age of four, Urban Jungle Boy had the strength of 100 men. Not 100 weak men or even 100 normal men. But 100 strong men. Which is roughly the equivalent of 231 normal men or 647 weak men or 4,627 sprightly octogenarians--or 11,789 newborns.