One typical night in the Loon and Harlot

One typical night in the Loon and Harlot good ole Jez Osborne confided that he was, in fact, The Kraken. He stopped me before I opened my gob. "Believe you me, I'm awake. See those

two sitting at the bar? They are my captors." The Kraken had taken on the form of an ordinary, middle age man. Maybe my buddy Jez Osborne had one too many! I asked "So, how do you

even know that's Kraken? Those two look like normal people! And even if it is Kraken, what's your plan, Jez? To call Davy Jones and say: 'I've got your pet! Give me the money!' ??"

"Bu-but... Nobody has his phone number! He's been dead at the bottom of the seas for decades!" came the protest. Jack arched a dark eyebrow and gave a withering stare. "Do I look

like I got time for your shenanigans. He had a phone number when he called me back in 1966. I didn't have Caller ID back then so I wasn't able to note his number. I think it was Bu

-icks that he sold. 1966 Buick Skylarks, but back then, of course, they were brand new. "Stop trying to sell me Buicks!" I yelled into Princess telephone, but he always called back

because telemarketers are the scum of the earth. If they all got fumigated, I wouldn't shed a tear. The royal family needed help to stop the harassment. Princess Telephone and I

donned our royal tutus & pirouetted ourselves through the halls of Parliament, bemoaning the atrocities of unsolicited robocalls & crossdressing marketing managers & Mollycoddlers.

Prime Minister Strother Martin joined the mayhem. “What we’ve got here…is failure to relevé!” He stepped from behind the podium, revealing a tutu-clad behind. We dancers cheered.