"...you have thirty days to respond." Thirty days? I've waited thirty years. I'll start with Barbara Eden in I Dream of Jeannie and how the laws of thermodynamics tended to preclude such phenomena. Then, I'll go right to Doris Day. She would've "showed better" in a more sensible outfit from the Mary Magdalene: Always Easter Catalog anyway. I should wear my Beatle boots. I'll go on to say that Shakespeare, as well as Marlow, would have certainly understood this as well as any gargoyle with water coming out of its mouth on any government building anywhere. Look, if Petrucchio noticed brown grass, God did too. And all HE did was say the secret word and the pretty little girl on the airplane was dead. Poof! That'll cinch it up. Row, row, row your boat.

It's so simple. If you can lead a steer with a nose ring to a blue ribbon you're aces with me. But that's just jive. I've heard rumors of the secret fund, the new statue, hidden somewhere in The Academic Perpetual Praise Hall. They've heard about it too. Ring around a rosy. And I know better than anyone that it could be as big as a cathedral if, and only if, properly equipped with regularly maintained carbon monoxide detectors. It's just as important to me as any Nativity scene in front of any bank. The mere fact that angels have wings like birds, and catacombs have pictures of horses with heads like elephants proves that. Ashes, ashes, all fall down. That'll shut them up. Where's my yo-yo?

I'll finish up by saying that except for totalitarianism, being hit by a bus, or being chased by a finless minnow in a small pond, it is important to remember that the primogeniturial rhetoric of Shakespeare and Marlow had nothing to do with, as some people in this department have been positing as of late, the risibility of the Gabor sisters, either Zsa-Zsa or Eva, not now, not ever. Simply put--things just aren't people. And they know it. And I'm on to them--all of them.

"Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?" Sure, I'll thank them for the opportunity to defend myself, but won't mean a lick of it. They'll thank me back and won't mean a lick of it either. They'll throw me a dinner and won't mean a pork chop of it. They'll clap and fluff their ascots after I give them the speech. One, two, buckle my shoe. Some will even curtsey if I bring my hula-hoop. I could be carrying off sleeping babies from strollers outside the Piggly Wiggly with giant locusts in tow and they'd still have to pay me. I've been here since the Dave Clark Five first appeared on Shindig in white tuxedos. All I have to do is make that snickering sound like a sow on a steer stuffer and they all run away. Brando was nothing more than a boar.

"Whaddya' rebelling against, Johnny?"

"Whaddya' got?"

See you in hell suckers!! SNORKELSNIC ...SNORKELSNIC ...aaaahahahahah!!