When I'm at a loss for words, I let TV do the talking for me:
All I can say is that I was so happy to wake up this morning and not find Bobby Ewing in my shower.
At the same time, it is rather nice to pull myself out of a bad dream and discover the political equivalent of a naked Patrick Duffy in my bedroom, giving me a wet hug.
Ah, a boy can dream . . .
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