Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Pruis.

Elflings and halflings, wanderlings, and people struck by the stars.

Welcome to the third installment of the smartest man in the world from the inner recesses of Bar Lubich,

and the gritty underbelly of West Hollywood here on Santa Monica Boulevard.

In a bar that can best be described as a place where the Roman office would come to hide

right before the moment of De Numeau when the reds run them down.

This is the place of the lampshade and the nude portrait of the crystal chandelier

and vodka served icy cold in tumblers to inebriates who wander up and down these city darkened,

slicked, reigned, storm watch 2010 Los Angeles streets.

Thank you so much for coming out tonight.

Ladies and gentlemen, golly and listeners who are potting out there in pod world.

The first thing on the agenda is last episode, or whatever we're calling it,

last time we convened.

I was complaining that President Obama hadn't pardoned anyone in his two years almost in office.

He pardoned Thanksgiving Turkey, which is always a hilarious gag,

because as you know, meat is murder and unbelievably delicious.

I wouldn't pardon a turkey because I think turkeys know what they fucking did.

Yeah, and for that they must pay, okay?

Let's get serious about birds for just two seconds.

They know what they do and they fucking deserve it, okay?

That's why they're so fun to shoot and eat and roast and stuff like that.

And why they're so delicious.

...