Melissa and Logan stayed here last night. Supposedly Logan is running in some sort of marathon, but you and I know that was just an excuse. An excuse to sleep on our futon. People will do anything to get on that futon, people.
We were of course thrilled to have them here, which is why I served them undercooked pork. (I was carving up the tenderloin, saw the alarming ruddiness of its insides, and declared, "I'm frightened." Then I made them eat it. They lived.) Henry's enthusiasm manifested itself with several dramatic pratfalls. It's sort of his thing. Only they didn't know that and thought he was just tripping a lot. And that we were neglecting him when he face-planted on the parquet and we didn’t even glance up from our trichinosis.
In return, Logan and Melissa gave us the gift that keeps on giving: the early-80s theme song. Somehow the show "Simon and Simon" entered our conversation, and we looked up the theme song, and our brains were taken over by it. And now we have to share it with you, or we will die. It's like "The Ring," except Gerald McRaney crawls out of your computer in three days.