Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Vroops.

Cheers, hearts and alarms.

On this unseasonable winter night here in California, IA,

this is the smartest man in the world,

pruped cast throwing down yet again from the friendly confines

of the Bar Lubich nestled at the confluence of,

is it Stanley and Santa Monica Boulevard here in roaring,

we how, CA.

Glug, glug, glug.

The days are in the 70s and the nights are in the 40s

are in California.

I realize if you're living in any other part of the country,

this falls on deaf ears because you've been trying to

chip yourself out of the ice for the last week or two

or bail yourself out of some sort of horrible biblical torrent.

But this is how we play here.

We never stop whining.

And if you were sitting outside tonight and you were in an actress,

you go, could you turn the heater on?

As I was driving over here tonight, and now I've discovered,

of course, I'd said previously that Bar Lubich located so

close to so many studios here in Lower California,

...