Tenderer than the tiniest tangerine and more available than bargain basement fried rice, one can only surmise that the weight of this whole Edgar-spinning habañero factory would equal that of a mid-grade mouse (at least after said mouse has purged itself of the latest fad diet food). If that’s not the case, then the sabotage worked its wonders once again (God bless us all) and our strange liquidation may have been for naught. But let’s not think about such treachery at this moment–heaven will be waiting for us upon the cessation of our final scruples. I’m telling you, this must be true. Why else would I even bother placating you? Death amounts to the complete reversal of mortal avarice, I’ve been told. By a reliable source, mind you. Now, I can’t go around blabbing about the destinations of our celestial bodies and not buy you a drink. That would be a crime. Manhattan for you? Never had one?! This will be interesting.

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