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Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Grandproofs.

The hearts and alarms greetings.

Mellow greetings to O.K. Davy. The proofcast is once again in the ether of

a proofcasting live on tape from the friendly confines of the punchline comedy club

here in my beloved San Francisco telephone.

Located high atop Alco Plaza in the bustling throbbing epicenter of

groovingness, the financial district here in San Francisco.

Others may seek bohemian climbs, but we seek to broadcast from the very heart of

evil.

There is no debt ceiling here, only no limit to the

mirth that may be enjoyed and endured on this night. We're so very excited to be here.

I drove up from Los Angeles today on the i5

highway, which many of the proup kittens and proup castenettes and proup

castellions and proup baskets out there in the world will be going,

what in heaven's name is the i5 Greg? Well, people here in California are

all too familiar with it. It's a straight road that runs about 500 miles

between northern California and lower California.

It runs through the part of the state where Barbara Boxers considered a

communist because she created a drought apparently.

And where the smell of bovine awful is almost overwhelming at certain points.

...