Like most people my age who grew up in southern or central Indiana, there was one radio station that was impossible to avoid, whether you liked classic rock or not.

Q95.

Leading the way, of course, was the morning radio show of Bob and Tom. Their juvenile — some might even say misogynistic — humor was both hilarious and cringeworthy, often in the same breath.

I loved listening to Bob and Tom, but sometime during my college years I stopped. As I recall, the jokes had grown stale; they were covering the same torrid ground with less than spectacular results.

But recently, I’ve started listening to the show again — much to my wife’s chagrin. She doesn’t see the humor, and I can understand that. There still is a juvenile quality inherent in Tom’s assholishness, Bob’s passion for boobs, Chick’s … well, being Chick.

But I can’t help but laugh at some of the humor. Maybe it’s my way of embracing my own juvenile sense of humor. Or maybe it’s just a sense of nostalgia, my effort to relive, in some way, a favorite bit of my past.

Nah, it’s gotta be the dick jokes.