From the back porch of my savanna mants, This is obscure season 4 in American Tragedy. I'm your host, your friend, your ear lover, your literary

Mansplainer in chief, and Georgianologist Michael Ian Black reporting for duty from my porch

right behind well I guess, adjacent to the cooking room that we have here in our

Savannah, manse, the weather has pleasanted, that's not a word, but it has pleasanted, and so I'm out here just sort of enjoying the last rays of sunshine as we head towards late afternoon, early evening, pre- supper, I should

add apparently dinner tonight is some sort of lemon pasta that Martha is preparing.

As I have said before, we routinely split cooking duties, although to be honest, she has

been cooking a lot more than I have in recent months. Now is that

some sort of failure on my part as a husband and provider? No doubt. But you know, the hell do I care what am I supposed to do be a good

husband in provider come on grow up that's that's not the way I was raised.

You know, all you woksters out there change in diapers and doing women's work.

Boy, that's not for me.

I do manly things, like read works of classic literature out loud and comment on them as I go,

the way men do.

Well, we're, uh, we've got some new work for Clyde Griffiths.

He's being bumped upstairs up to the fifth floor where he's to be put in charge of girls

stamping collars or some such thing. I mean he's not even in charge he's sort of

the assistant to the foreman, but his cousin Gilbert has referred

to it as being the head of something.

So maybe for all intents and purposes he will be the person in charge of monitoring,

collar stamping.

And you know what happens?

If you don't stamp the collars correctly.

...