From the Jill Schwartz Memorial Library here in Sultry, Savannah.

This is obscure.

Season four, an American tragedy.

I'm your host, your friend, your ear lover, and literary mansplainer-in-chief, Michael Ian Black, a little sleepy.

This afternoon was out late, too late, playing poker, as I sometimes do.

And yes, I lost.

Just a little bit.

A small, inconsequential loss.

And yet, it stung, particularly knowing that I had a long drive ahead of me in the middle of the night to embark on with my pockets slightly lighter in

weight than when I arrived and then the dogs you know I probably didn't go to bed

till like 3 a.m. and then the dogs were up at 8.20, 8.30 something like that had to get

out of bed deal with those assholes. And so here we are.

With me, Sue Pine on the Jack Jack Memorial Reading Throne. My eyes closed as I begin this

introduction to another exciting episode of Obscure. And I'm speaking perhaps a little slower than I normally would because I'm unwilling

for the introductory remarks to end, not because I don't want to get into the book,

but because doing so would require opening my eyes.

I'm also contemplating what the hell I'm going to make for dinner tonight.

Martha made a tortellini soup yesterday, which I was not home to enjoy.

And then when I got home at 2.30 or whatever it was, I wasn't in the mood to heat up soup, so I haven't sampled that

yet. But she cooked yesterday, so I'm cooking today. Not looking forward to it. Probably got to go

to the damn grocery store when I'm done with you assholes. I mean, this day is shaping up to be

a real turd. Although I will say I'm recording this day is shaping up to be a real turd.

...