Freakenstein.
I know. I shouldn't have interrupted him with my petty complaints. He's a mad scientist, not a T.V. and stereo repair man. My bad, totally. Dude. Oh, yes... that's right. We are not the only ones reading this. Sorry out there in the blogosphere. Big Green is in the midst of a band meeting of sorts. No, we don't typically do these. Like most groups, we all live together in our funky (i.e. "groovy") musician bachelor pad, with the retro sixties modular furniture and gooseneck lamps of the type you might find in Darrin Stevens' house (assuming he actually had a house and not just a set that is, in essence, a house sawed in half). My point is.... um ... (yes... it was a house sawed in half, perhaps by some kind of witchcraft, or ... craft services....) Damn it! Okay, I'll stay on point. We're meeting about that thing, that bloodthirsty killer. No, not "The Thing", as in the sci-fi movie "The Thing". I mean the thing that Mitc...