Our politically-astute production manager gave me two passes to Disgraceland, the home of Richard Milhouse Nixon, one of our nation’s 42 greatest presidents.
He scanned the titles: “The Rhyme of the Ancient Marinara.” “It was the best of times – ah, no it wasn’t.” “Brother, Can You Paradigm?” Inspiration struck.
Secretaries were tossing office supplies into a bonfire, around which the technical staff cavorted, chanting the lyrics to “My Sharona” and playing air-guitar.
Plans are in the works for a compilation album, Red Hot and Congested, to further aid Bucktooth’s struggle and maybe buy him some tasty blackberry cough drops.
Sociopathic-but-sensitive lowlifes attempt to pull off the greatest plotline theft in history, but (all together now, folks), things don’t go quite as planned.