Fascinoma

I foresee a mission to Lynchburg, as soon as the grass grows green over the snake-oil salesman's grave. I plan to drink a a sixer or so of Beck's en route so I can pay proper respects when I get there.

Boy, talk about getting the face you deserve. Seeing the news footage last night, and in it Jerry going from skinny little ridge-runner, to Hastertesque Jabba -- whoa.