Al, Kelly's been stood up.
Must bring back memories for you, huh, Peg? Anyway, I was driving home -- God knows why -- and I hear this old song on the radio that I used to love, but I can't remember the name. Now, why is it whenever a song comes on the radio, and you're waiting to hear them name it, it's always number 6 of 40 in a row?
Well, stick with it, honey. You figured out how to flush the toilet; you'll figure this one out.
This is a burning question of our time, and I will not have it trivialized by a woman who thinks the TV show "Hunter" is engrossing. (as he's walking over to the fridge to get a beer): Anyhow, the DJ finally comes on, and, instead of telling me the name of my song, what does he do? Goes on and on about some massive pile-up on the freeway. (in a whiny voice): "Twelve dead, twelve dead." (normal voice): Then he kicks off about 500 in a row, with Bobby Goldsboro's musical sphincter lock known as "Honey."
Kelly (horrified): Oh, God. This is what it's like being home on a Friday night?
(Bud nods)
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