I'm Not A Heavy Drinker, I Can

Dear 338171 (may I Call You 338?)

Never Mind, Dear, We're All Made The Same, Though Some More Than Others.

An Infant Prodigy Of Nine Is Shoved Upon The Stage In White. She Starts Off In A Dismal Whine About A Dark And Stormy Night, A Burglar, Whose Heart Is True, Despite His Wicked-looking Face, Who Puts The Little Child In Doom, To Save Her Mamma's Jewel Case. This May Bring Tears To Every Eye; It Does Not Set My Heart On Fire. I'd Like To Stand Serenely By And Watch That Horrid Child Expire.

Exercise Is The Most Awful Illusion. The Secret Is A Lot Of Aspirin And Marrons Glaces.

Las Vegas: It Was Not Cafe Society, It Was Nescafe Society