Which reminds me, I recently watched Exorcist 2: The Heretic. Well, it was on as I was writing. My wife abandoned it for better fare, but I somehow could not get myself to turn it off. I mean, it’s the greatest movie ever. I assume Sir Richard Burton was smashed the entire time, raging in his trailer, quoting Shakespeare till he was blue in the face. Then back out to utter more humiliating profundities on camera. Egad. Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf come to life. Who must one have coitus with to escape this production? Sir Richard beseeched the gods. They answered not. Then back to the trailer. Ya gotta love catastrophic sequels. Godfather III with ectoplasm. How do these things happen?