I never book commercials because I'm too angry and the commercial world is that ridiculous, like honey, how'd you get the shirt so fresh?

You know what I mean? Like that ridiculous, like the world is falling a shit, but the biggest thing is how did you get it?

So I'm always improvising like honey, honey, how do you get the shirt so fresh?

I mean one out of three people are in jail these days. People are stabbing each other for food.

Not half a block away from this audition. Yet you get the shirt fresh.

How do you do it? We're trapped in a loveless thing.

I mean I just stay in my room and stare and I stare and when you knock and say all you are right I pretend.

I say yes, it's not true. Yet you got the shirt fresh. How do you get the shirt fresh amid so much sorrow?

I mean the sorrow is incomparable especially in our household and in your parents' household.

It's just been a history, it's been generational of absolutely soul-crushing sorrow, but you and your mother get the shirt fresh.

You know it's funny as people stop laughing at this bit after a while.

So what I would do is I put on Afro-Caribbean paint like a white and black paint and black at my eye so I look like this sort of Afro-Caribbean Vue icon.

Then I wouldn't speak to anybody when I say a word so I projected this aura of horror.

You don't have to make rude noises. That's all right, I don't mind. You are tearing me partly off.

And yet we're going to put you right back together on this Thursday night edition of TBTL.

Show that just might be too beautiful to live. It's not going to do any good at all. It's not a bit.

There's a waste of time to do that.

And yet here we are. Let's get together and get on the imaginary radio.

My wife is Luke Burbank, I have your host.

I bear no blood relation to the screenwriter of speed, but I am currently on it.

This is episode 1,511 in a collector series.

I want pie, I want big turkey.

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