Kim Richardson is at the P&H tonight, and now I have to go. As always, I really couldn t care less what you do this week, because I don t even know you, and unless you can get George W. Bush and John Ashcroft to kiss each other on the MTV Video Awards, I feel quite certain that I don t want to meet you. Besides, I have to go write Dr. Gott a note: Dear, Dr. Gott: This morning I awakened from a dream in which I realized that my pet angel fish, Hashpipe, who kisses me on the finger every morning when I feed him, was really Mr. T., and my stomach was in knots. Is this going to give me cancer, collapse my colon, or affect the way I urinate? Looking forward to hearing from you!
—T.S.
