Hot Groupy Action . . . or Blackened Grouper Action

Last night: Where the hell were the groupies?! Listen: if you're a groupy and you're afraid that our show is so good that it will kill you . . . then you're probably right. But that should not stop you from coming out, throwing your underpants onstage, screaming loudly into the ear of the old man in front of you, and finally storming the dressing room and carrying us all away to your hut of bliss.

Admittedly, since I left town immediately after the Police Reports, I may have missed out on the hot groupy action.

Today's research request is, paraphrased: My client is on the offenders list for child abuse. But she's never abused an adult. Can she work as a private nurse with the elderly? To which the answer is, of course: of course. We hate the elderly ourselves.

Best line from last night's show:

DAVE: I'm a toast-making robot . . . made out of cardboard boxes. I rode a train from Denver for this?

HOLY HELL! This is what happened yesterday: I stopped at Target to get an auto car charger. Doop e dooo, walkin through target, walkin through Target SWEET LORD! There was a nipples-high display of Pitch Black. Only it wasn't Pitch Black; it was Pitch Black II, the Sequel. WIth a Sour Bite.

And it was cheap. I like the old pitch black better, but wes seemed to think the new sour version was superior.

I guess this year's show has proven that any man dressed in a bra or a dress will provide a better laugh than any dialogue we write. Nards.