Hold out a minute, I gotta be the up man. I gotta be the glad hander. Would you like a couple of olives with that martini? I'm able to show you, pending surgical treatment, I am back again in harness, the alliterated verbiage spills forth like teenage Tijuana projectile vomiting. Or perhaps the 70 leisure drug dalliance proceeds to precise its toll on me Mind because it asked to run the same digital maze Monday thru Friday and then soak up this horseshit spin and grin.

Currently, as I…