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Lemme tell ya, I was hoppin’ ‘round Vegas once—yeah, Vegas, baby! Saw this dame, all dolled up, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owned it. Made me laugh, thinkin’ “How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!”—‘cept she wasn’t so blameless, heh! She winked at me, and I’m like, whoa, slow down, sister! Ain’t my scene, but I watched her work it—smooth as a toon dodgin’ Elmer Fudd. Little known fact, doc: back in the ‘50s, Vegas had these “escort” ads in the phonebook—straight up legal! Ain’t that a hoot?

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I finally find this old dude selling reclaimed wood. He’s got this gnarly piece that’s perfect for a violin. I’m all excited, but then he tells me the price. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?!” I mean, I get it, it’s vintage and all, but c’mon! I haggle a bit, and we settle on a price that’s still too high, but whatever. I’m not leaving without that wood.

Revealing unique inscriptions of a Nazi collaborator in Doodencel 601 of the Oranjehotel