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Anyway, I just smile in friendly nurselike fashion and fork one of Clemmy's rejected anchovies, all the while getting this large charge out of depriving him crash(widescreen edition) of his favorite speech. An inch short of mouth I see the anchovy's bathed in ash-flavored Hollandaise, like everything else on Clemmy's plate, and punctuate my find with a characteristic housewifey shriek. "You're so inconsiderate," I complain, slamming my fork down noisily. "You know how much I love anchovies." But finicky Clemfish isn't taking the bait. Not just crash(widescreen edition) any old fight will do for Clemmy, who's grokked my strategy at last, sighs this disappointed sigh, drains his third Becks, and signals for another round. We're both being good today, drinks-wise, as is our wont after major debauches. I for one am being especially careful, since I've got a heavy date tomorrow that I want to look good for. No blotchy cheeks, bags, or piggy red eyes allowed for this extremely important three-day encounter with the current great love of my life, Walter Light, who just might take me away from all this.
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