From the Jil Schwartz Memorial Library here in Soltri,

Georgia, this is obscure season 4 in American tragedy.

I'm your host, your friend, your ear lover and literary mansplainer in chief,

Michael, he and Blagsjusie, I have to say, a little bit fatigued, having just come in from the

dusty road I traveled by car car from Atlanta, Georgia, here to Savannah, Georgia, and I had to wake up early to do that and was falling

asleep at the wheel.

Don't worry, it's a robot car.

I can fall asleep at the wheel with no harmful, what,

circumstances, no harmful results.

I don't know.

I try not to, but by God, every once in a while the eyes just go to

half mast and the next thing you know you're dreaming of something or another while the car is

hurtling 80 miles an hour down the road, probably not the best way to drive.

So then I had to, I had to charge my car and I went to a Wendy's.

They had some superchargers there with the Wendy's and I pulled in there and plugged in and took a brief little math and feeling a little bit better, but my goodness, it's hard. It's hard to get to my age. I'm all sore and beaten up and

just a mess from all my physical doings yesterday on this set of my super secret movie but I'm done with that

now and none too soon because I've had to keep my hair long long for me anyway

Alan Alda hair as my wife describes it, and I just cannot wait to get myself shorn.

So now, first thing or the first thing I did upon returning first order of business

cracking open in American tragedy settling myself onto the jackjack memorial

reading throne and to the Jack Jack Jack Memorial Reading Throne, and here I am.

The dogs are with me.

...