So, because I'm a glutton for misery, I've been considering developing a new situation comedy, aka sitcom, with Roger. Unlike some of my other writing projects (I'd like to reiterate "some" because some of them are pretty damn good), this one has serious commercial potential. I won't go into great detail 'cause it's a very innovative concept, and I'd rather not get ahead of myself, but trust me, folks, it's a good one. The only problem is its potential to to turn to shit in my beautiful, and Roger's stumpy sausage, fingers. How might it change into greasy stool, you ask? Well first, I'm the only one writing. Roger, the great articulator, spins a fine yarn but only aloud and only after gargling a quart of Turkey 101, the second way this might turn to shit. While I enjoy a fine American spirit, Roger's creative conditions require its constant consumption, and I can't do that all the time, or I'll become what my childhood loteria cards called "El Borracho." But admittedly, our best ideas are birthed and recorded between hoppy belches and gut-holding hysteria. That's the only time we both become excessive small talkers, busy bees, if you will of base and socially foul subject matter, which leads me to my most troubling concern. The theme of this golden goose is something I am wholly unfamiliar with. Roger, on the other hand, is a sound expert. His primitive brain is an uncharted paradise of information that is ripe for exploitation, but filling my literary picnic basket with his golden apples will, I foresee, be a challenge.