Greetings Darlings!

Lady Potamus here.

Well, I have been following the Robert Blake situation with great interested. I actually had something of a tryst with him back in his hey-day. I still recall the first time he suggested that I should keep my eye on the sparrow. The thought of it now sends unpleasant shivers down my spine.

Truth be told, I actually was involved in a threesome with Monsieur Blake and a certain notorious football player whose name sounds like a pulpy breakfast drink. You know, the kind of drink that Anita Bryant once hawked. His last name was the sort of one that would make you think of Homer and Bart. Am I making myself clear?

The point is that while I was engaged with the pair of them I recall making a drunken comment, intended to be humorous, that was something like, "why don't the two of you kill your wives and run off with me."

Well, as you can imagine, I rue saying such a thing now. At any rate, I was only kidding then. We all wish murder on our partner's other lovers during the throes of passion, assuming that we ever reach the throes of passion.

At any rate, Monsieur Blake started calling me again a few weeks after his wife had died, but by that time I had seen David Lynch's The Lost Highway and was in no mood to see that creepy, creepy man.

On a more positive note, there is at last a site I can enjoy on the Internet.

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