Turn your phones off.

Mine is maintaining... oh, this is the theme.

Ladies and gentlemen, Greg Groups.

Greg, well, once again, this was the man of the World Cup.

From the Saluvius confines of the Syriestitude of the Reddest Room Honor,

appearing in the backroom of the Bar, Liebicch,

in the pulsing, throbbing epicenter,

and the veiny, veiny, purple, big thing,

the giant wagstaff that is the disco stick of West Hollywood

across from the Pleasure Chest, where Cocktober is in full sway.

Only one day in and everyone can feel the mighty majestic,

fucking powerful, redwood tree,

that is springing up out of the ground

and letting everyone know that its protubiance will dominate

as the autumn area moves in and the Bradbury and October season once again takes hold here.

We have no seasons in LA, but pilot season, fire season,

and earthquake season.

It's autumn everywhere else and let the leaves fall where they may.

Oh, look, the changing color. Great.

In LA, you know what we're doing? Having a flood.

It's not a natural flood. The pipes broke because they were put in a hundred years ago.

We had a flood in LA for a week. Okay, you guys?

...