I want to eat a meal with Winston Churchill, we'd smoke cigars and make victory v's and I'd touch his chin(s). He had a friendly looking neck/chin(s).
Except that I always give up. My life has been a succession of trial and folds.
This was a poster in my old cello teacher's basement. The Sydney Opera House was another one. I memorized the placement and text on all his posters whenever I tried not to start crying. I gave up on that, and cried, and then gave him up as a teacher.