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Ladies and gentlemen, great groups.

Welcome to Audible.

Life's candy and the signs of all of butter, who told you to elaborate on my parade.

It is the post-Obama re-election prupcast once again taking to the either from the

celibious confines of the intense series world of the backstage ignomini and CD

sobriety that is the bar-lubich across the street from the pleasure chest here in

pulsing, throbbing, spurting West Hollywood, California where it is now no

member. I welcome you on it all. Welcome to the whole new world.

The world that's the post the last 18 months world.

We were caught in that swirling vortex in measma. Endless fucking lies sound bites

bullshit and complete pressure row by forces that were outside our

canner comprehension leaving us completely indefensible like a beetle upside

down on a soap bubble in a Peter Greenaway moody sliding down while the

Michael Neiman soundtrack beats away ceaselessly encounter point to our

frustration. Once again we find ourselves a top down and looking over at the

tangerine fucking sunlight as it comes filtering through the dappled leaves of

what can only be described as an entirely huge fucking enormous indescribable

weight lifted off of our shoulders. It's over, it's over, it's so very

fucking over. We don't have to be a hair about Herman Kahn and Michelle Buckman

or that we're selling GM to China or that Paul Ryan is a human or any of

...