I'm really worried about Bob. He is the stable one, the one we all depend upon for sound judgement. Bob goes to bed early while we run wild in the streets; when he says "We have to have a talk..." everyone knows that whatever they are doing has got to end. But since the death of our friend, Mickey, he has decided to pick up the baton of bad behavior and run with it. We are scared silly.

After a six-day bacchanal, regretful images inevitably surface. Singing to Lady GaGa's "Bad Romance" is one of them. The next event of danger will be my party this Saturday in Twist's bungalow for Terry's fiftieth birthday; if I haven't seen you, contact me for the guest list (you won't regret it). Then next Sunday is Henrietta's 69 th birthday party...if we are still alive.
Of course, everyone was acting up including Dr. Brad and the lovely Georgette; they couldn't WAIT to get those hats on again. As I said: Wait until Saturday.