Back at the Lounge, it’s Darryl Worley. And now I must go have an out-of-body experience. As always, I really don’t care what you do this week, because I don’t even know you, and unless you can get the city to lay off Mongo and let him keep his toilet in his front yard, I feel more than certain that I don’t want to meet you. Besides, it’s time for me to go find some of that Celine Dion perfume and see if it will take the 80-year buildup of stains off my kitchen sink. Or I could just hold a photo of her up to it, I guess.
—T.S.
