Hey, John Mayer. You should’ve taken your Shrinky-Dink out of the oven sooner. I think you burned it. “This is Tom Jones.” No, boring novels are shaped differently. “The singer.” The Thunderball? “The one and only.” Wow, cool. Hey, John? “Don’t.” John? “Shut the fuck up, please.” Johnny? … “I’m not asking to see his … Continue reading He’s The Kind I Like To Flaunt, And Take To Dinner