For no apparent reason, Raymond Yates shouted to me:

 PO>>>> >>> on your wrists>
 PO>>>> You're not doing anything important for thge next few hours,
 PO>>>> are you?
 HL>>> 
 HL>>> Everyone... start scrubbing Phil... Where's that rose-scented
 HL>>> soap?

 PO>> Behave, or I'll re-form into something resembling a metal bikini.
 PO>> We'll see who can stand more scrubbing.

 RY> A brass bra? what a concept..

Hmm.  Perhaps I should wait until January--no, that's summer in Enn Zed.

Phil Osophy

... I left my Tart in Aunt Fran's Crisco.

--- Spot 1.3b Unregistered