Meanwhile, back in Seattle, Ms. Jane asks the following excellent question: "How will pumping sweeteners into our system make us healthier?" "One word," Richard Roman replies. "Purity." "We're dialing back the additives to deliver the highest-quality all-American product you people deserve," he continues, adding, "We need you just as healthy as you can be, which is why we are diving whole-hog into what keeps Americans living longer and tasting better." "You do, of course, mean to say the food will be tasting better," Ms. Jane helpfully prompts. "That's exactly what I mean," the sly Richard Roman nods, holding her gaze for just a second or two too long before turning his head slightly to smile directly at the audience, and if I had any shits left to give about this nefarious Leviathan plot to subjugate and devour all of mankind this late in this awful season, I might feel a little unsettled at the overfamiliar way he seems to be staring at me at the moment. Fortunately, I don't have any shits left to give this late in this awful season, so let's wave goodbye to the sly Mr. Roman for the moment as his features get obliterated by this evening's...
...SNOT ROCKET! so I can share some exciting news. Well, to be honest with you, it is both exciting and infuriating at the same time. The other day, I received an urgent personal letter postmarked from, of all places, Turin. As in Italy. And I knew it was both urgent and personal right away because the envelope was quite helpfully marked "URGENT!!!" and "PERSONAL!!!" right there next to my misspelled name. Naturally, I was intrigued and, after I forked over some cash to my friendly neighborhood mailman to cover the postage due, I opened the envelope to find the following note inside:
Oh, you darling little man!!! Apologies for not having written sooner, but when I tell you of the absolutely dreadful events of the last several months, I'm sure you'll understand why I simply couldn't find the time to put pen to paper!!! Now, be a dear and wire five thousand Euros to me care of the American consulate in Milan, as I simply must book a flight back to the United States, immédiatement!!! Kisses!!!!!
Naturally, the note was unsigned.
I believe he's flying in on the seventeenth, though of course I won't be sure until he calls me from baggage claim to have me pick him up, at which point I will tell him to get a goddamned cab like a normal person, after which he will get all shrieky on the telephone claiming he can't take a cab like a so-called "normal person" because he's of the dragonly persuasion, in case I haven't noticed, and could I stop wasting time chattering on and on and on at him like that endlessly and fetch him right away? And I'll do it, because I want to know what the fuck he was doing in Italy for the last four months.