Within the last couple months, two men high above their respectable tree houses found themselves in pickles of their own making, and let’s also grant them victims of bad luck — aw, hell, I lost my notes. I actually copied down a few things off the Netberger about these two birds, er, pickles. I’m trying better myself; maybe document my rantings — you ever try that? Never mind, I screwed up: I grieve, I starve. Why should you pay more than a dollar? So send me a dollar.
You can read about these two men of who drank as much as Roman emperors, when I find my notes. I want my notes. Don’t forget me. Why should I have to suffer? All this damn legal paper looks alike.