Two Men. One Pole.

Here's all you need to know: It's funny, and it's justice. You want more? Okay, these two guys were arrested in New Zealand. They were handcuffed to each other, but they escaped from custody. Now watch! (No audio. News story here.)

Innocence Eviscerated (as seen on C-SPAN!)

I was held captive by former Illinois governor Rod Blagojevich's closing argument last night. It was a magnificent spectacle. Here's a taste:

"...imagine yourself walking in my shoes....there's been a rush to judgment and an evisceration of the presumption of innocence."

Now that doesn't paint a pretty picture. I haven't been this mesmerized by a government figure's words since Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia said “I am not a nut” on NPR last year. (He was explaining that if ear notching and putting people in stocks were "legal punishments," he would support them.)

Full transcript of Blagojevich's speech here. Good stuff.

I Laughed While Reading, Part V of III

First, did you know that eggs contain egg? Just checking. Next, teenage writer Michael Yashinsky describes applying for a job as a bee mascot for a Detroit florist:

On the application, I wrote convincingly of my talents, which I noted were "flying, dancing, buzzing, and fake-stinging." Apparently, these... sparked their interest as they promptly called me back three months later.

[He dons the bee costume.] With high hopes, I bounded onto the sidewalk, my antennae scraping the sky... As glamorous as the job appeared from a distance, after ten minutes of breathing stale hot air within the heavy bee head, I began to feel woozy. With every hop, skip, and jump of my frenetic bee dance, the thick plastic skull bopped menacingly against my head... Yet despite the pain, heat, and wing-flapping fatigue, I made a decision. Not wanting to carry on the blighted tradition of my burned-out predecessor, I felt determined to find the joy in my job....

When teenagers cruised by, windows open and music blasting, I picked up on the beat and my Van Gogh-yellow legs followed suit, pollinating the pavement with funk. I was rewarded with riotous honking and boisterous shouts of appreciation.

Michael Yashinsky, "Confessions of a Teenage Mascot: My Life as a Bee" (Anthologized in The Best Teen Writing of 2007.)

Toilet Paper: Your Source for Justice and Poetry

Swindler Bernard Madoff is still waltzing around relatively free in his Park Avenue apartment… but can he tango? (Oh, good one!)

Since this embezzling Beelzebub has so far been merely confined at home with an ankle bracelet, teenage kids in Florida had to show the Justice Department how it’s done. A group of youths descended on Madoff’s Palm Beach mansion and TP-ed it. Sweet justice!

The unnamed kids took revenge after losing their trust funds to Madoff's greed. Their parents apparently endorsed the assault, as does the staff here at Unexpectedly Bart!.

Meanwhile, over at the Mainichi Daily News (is your subscription current?), comes news of toilet paper poetry. The Japan Toilet Labo —“a research center devoted to the country's toilets”— plans to exhibit “toilet poems” in Japan’s public restrooms next month.

You see, the average Japanese person uses 55 TP rolls annually. That's too many! But soon, when a public bathroom user reaches for a sheet, some pithy lines will provide a timely reminder on sustainable wipe-age. Some examples:

“Give love to the toilet.”
“That paper will meet you for but a moment.”
“Fold the paper over and over and over and over again.”

These must sound better in Japanese. After all, preliminary results show a 10-20 percent drop in toilet paper use where the poems were placed! I wonder what other civic wonders could be accomplished with poetry... and/or toilet paper...

Got Any Recycled Veggie Oil?

A man driving through the German town of Limbach-Oberfrohna missed a turn and lost control of his car. Then he launched off an embankment and soared through the air for nearly 100 feet… until he landed in the roof of a church.

That’s 23 feet up! I think it’s fair to say the driver was speeding ein bischen. He was behind the wheel of a Skoda Octavia, giving the Czech automaker a great new ad slogan: “It flies to the heavens.” (Its old slogan was the limp "Good Made Better.")

Super-powered or not, casual readers of this blog —as well as the more formal ones— know that I am a car skeptic. (That’s right, I don’t believe in them!) But in the depths of my wizened heart, I have a special chamber dedicated to a German car... namely, the 1974 VW Microbus that I drove for the first 20 years of my driving career. And I can replace it soon with a revamped, ultra-green 21st century version!

Called the Verdier, this Wired article states the bus will have “a 4-speed automatic turbocharged bio-diesel hybrid drivetrain, so when you aren't running on electricity you’re running on recycled veggie oil.”

Models will be offered at between $69,000-$129,000. Ouch! That news just caused me to recycle some veggie oil of my own. Check out the Verdier’s page here.

Church/car photos from Der Spiegel.

Southpaws Are All Right

Rahm Emanuel is left-handed. I base my astute observation on this gesture that the White House chief-of-staff made as he mocked former House colleagues at the Presidential Inauguration.

On the one hand, radical liberals are members of the “left wing.” On the other, hardcore conservatives are considered to be part of the “far right.” But if one considers U.S. presidents, many of them (including Obama) have leaned left.

As of right now, five of the last seven presidents have been left-handed. This despite the fact that lefties only account for about 13 percent of the general population! So what gives? Are left-handed people just naturally superior?

Yes. Studies show that lefties are more commonly found in leadership positions, and they seem to be better at some creative tasks. Not only that, but on average, lefties make 15–26 percent more money than righties.

As a reader of this blog, the odds are good that you’re already left-handed. If so, please carry on. But if you are right-handed, consider a change. Sure, it will be difficult to brush your teeth or text-message at first. But long term, not only does a pay raise await, but you will also be granted continued free access to Unexpectedly Bart!

(Yep, this will be a pay-to-use site soon. Although you're already paying in a way, aren't you? Oh, and let me vouch for Melissa Roth's book to the left. Very interesting reading; click on the pic for the link.)

All I Want for My Birthday is a Cadillac Escalade (and a Kaba Kick!)

Wow, a Cadillac Escalade for kids! This toddler-friendly SUV could be an award-winning toy this year. You see, the Campaign for a Commercial-Free Childhood has opened the voting for its "Toys Oppressive And Destructive to Young Children Award."*

The TOADY will be given to the toy that best epitomizes... something awful. (So the Escalade Jr. gets points in its disfavor for ecological irresponsibility and mindless consumerism.) Although there are other contestants for the TOADY (link here), my money is on either the Fisher-Price SUV or Hasbro’s repellent Baby Alive (which I wrote about here).

Of course, none of these toys can hold a candle to the Kaba Kick, a plastic gun marketed in Japan a few years back. It was used as a kids' version of Russian-roulette. The barrel was held to a competitor's head and then the trigger was pushed. The gun would then randomly "kick" the unlucky user in the head at unpredictable moments.

* Do you also get annoyed by the selective use of capital letter to make a clever acronym? This should be the TOADTYCA.

Hurray for You!

You watched the Inauguration, and now you're filled with hope about what the future can bring. 

You're not alone. Citizens across the U.S. are thinking about what we've accomplished together. And we're in awe of model-builder Gary McIntire's LEGO presidential inauguration scene in Carlsbad, California.

Hey, do you know what LEGO model builders say when they fit pieces together? "Oh, snap!"

As you chortle over that fine joke, let me reiterate, "Hurray for us. And hurray for YOU."

Bathroom Kabuki and Mysterious Adverts

Here is a little bathroom kabuki; this person was the victim of someone sprinkling baby powder in the hair dryer.

Oh, and I'll give you a thousand yen if you can figure out what's being advertised in this Japanese commercial before you get to the end.

Pecksniffian Guttersnipes Need Not Apply

While members of the U.K.’s House of Commons often mount savage verbal attacks on each other, the actual words they can use are surprisingly tame. That’s because these legislators are not allowed to call each other cheaters, liars, or drunkards, and they must always preface remarks by saying, “The honourable gentleman/lady.” Of course, there are ways around these types of rules. Winston Churchill once accused a rival of “terminological exactitude.” (Translation: "Liar!")

As referenced in the House of Commons website and Sarah Lyles’ excellent The Anglo Files, other words that are unbecoming of a Parliamentarian include:

• blackguard
• blowhard
• coward
• git
• gutternsnipe
• hooligan
• political skunk
• rat swine
• stool pigeon
• traitor
• Pecksniffian cant (Pecksniff was the hypocrite in Dickens’ Martin Chuzzlewit)

I think many Americans envy the raucous spectacle that the Parliamentarians put on. Each member seems capable of an eloquent speech at the drop of a hat, as opposed to the dreary monologues that U.S. senators and representatives subject us to on C-SPAN. Perforce, members of the House of Commons have to pay attention, be prepared, and must possess fully-functioning frontal lobes.

More fascinating bylaws from the H. of C.:

The style of debate in the House has traditionally been based one of cut-and-thrust; listening to other Members' speeches and intervening in them in spontaneous reaction to opponents’ views. It is thus very different from the debating style in use in some overseas legislatures, where reading of set-piece speeches from a podium or from individual desks is more common.

This style of debate can make the Commons Chamber a rather noisy place with robustly expressed opinion, many interventions, expressions of approval or disapproval and, sometimes, of repartee and banter…..Speakers have taken care not to bridle the traditional vigour and forthrightness of the expression of opinion in the House, for the style of the House of Commons has never thrived on excessive politeness and restraint. The profound deference towards Ministers and Prime Ministers apparent in some overseas parliaments is generally lacking in the Commons.

To maintain the spontaneity of debate, reading a prepared speech is not allowed though using notes is…..Ministers do have notes on possible supplementary questions, drawn up by their Civil Servants to aid them in providing answers to Parliamentary questioning.

Cool, But Not Kosher

If you paste "http://bacolicio.us/" in front of the complete address of any website, a large piece of bacon will manifest itself on the page. Thus:

Political Allegory from the Animal Kingdom

"If you're done up there, it's my turn next."

Mollycoddling Under a Glass Dome

In 1797, two weeks after being sworn in as the second president, John Adams wrote to Abigail about his new presidential lodgings:

“There is not a chair to sit in. The beds and bedding are in a woeful pickle. This house has been a scene of the most scandalous drinking and disorder ...”

The presidential digs were a disaster because George Washington had put the servants in charge of the transition. In the 1700s, that meant one thing: PAR-TY! Actually, it meant a series of parties, and the servants out-of-control behavior led to broken furniture, missing china and silverware, and suspicious-looking stains everywhere.

Dealing with suspicious-looking stains is how a president should take office. It puts him (or her!) in a righteously peevish mood, and that's what you need to take on the world. But today, it's all about mollycoddling the Commander-in-Chief. When the Obamas take residence of the White House, their clothes will already be hanging in closets or folded in dressers, and the family pictures will be on display.

Looking to the future, a competition called the White House Redux asked this question: What if the ultimate architectural symbol of political power (the White House, that is), were to be designed today? My favorite proposal is this Buckminster Fuller-esque one that puts a glass dome over the White House.

Another proposal called for a number of mini-White Houses to be spread throughout Washington D.C. The First Family would rotate through a variety of neighborhoods this way, and different communities would share the “symbolic mantle” of the office.

One team put a theme park by the White House in order to "recover it as a public space." Uh-huh. I guess seeing the President in a bumper car would be a more common sight then! (Insert smiley-face emoticon here.)

I Laughed While Reading, Part IV of III

The following dance classes are offered free by the dance company BodyVox next week:

BodyVox Technique: [This class] stresses the importance of core strength and the inner origin of peripheral events.

Dance Foundations Through Fantasy: Recommended for children 5–7 years of age. [Teaches] improvisational activities, controlled movement, stories, games, explosive traveling, music, rhythm, and verbal reflection.

Other offered classes include Stackrobats and Grounded Levitation (freestyle-acrobatic break dancing). Sign up via the link above.

From the Typewriter to the Bookstore: A Publishing Story

As an author, I'm frequently asked (twice in 2008 alone) about how a book gets from a writer's mind to the remaindered table at a bookstore.

Luckily for me, Macmillan has created this educational video: "From the Typewriter to the Bookstore: A Publishing Story." By the way, Macmillan will be publishing my unauthorized autobiography, Under the Influence of Powdered Milk, later this decade. Preliminary notes from my editor below.
Anyway, while anyone even tangentially connected to publishing probably knows most of this video's material, it still makes for a nice refresher course.

Tax the Robots

“I’m the most experienced vice president since anybody.”
Vice President-Elect Joe Biden, interviewed in today's New York Times.

I've been a little concerned that our new executive team might be feeling a surge of unseemly hubris. So I was encouraged to receive this message from the Obama/Biden transition team yesterday:

Dear Bart,

We wanted to tell you about a new feature on Change.gov which lets you bring your ideas directly to the President. It's called the Citizen's Briefing Book, and it's an online forum where you can share your ideas, and rate or offer comments on the ideas of others.

...after the Inauguration, we'll print them out and gather them into a binder like the ones the President receives every day from experts and advisors....your idea could be included in the Citizen's Briefing Book to be delivered to President Obama.

Did you hear that? The ideas submitted by people like us will be in a binder just like the ones the President gets from experts! Chortling with glee, I went to the site, and while I formulated my thoughts, I took a look at the most recent idea that'd been left for the President Elect:
We are doomed.

Slouching Toward Saks Fifth Avenue

Who's going to buy a Prada handbag during a recession? Not me! To get around this problem, Saks Fifth Avenue took two steps.

1.) Sell cheaper "slouchy bags."
2.) Hire Shepard Fairey (the artist who designed the Obama Hope poster) to get consumers fired up about slouchy bags.

The result is this ad campaign, which mixes Soviet kitsch with, uh, slouchiness. Now who wants a slouchy bag? (I do, I do!)

The ad reminded me of the 1940 promotional poster below that the Children's Book Council commissioned from Maud and Miska Petersham.
"Comrade! You will find the books on our recommended reading list educational and enlightening. Read, so that a new social order may be born."

Making a Crack, Taking a Dig, and Riding a Bike

Along the lines of pithy insults, I just came across this passage in Robertson Davies' excellent and odd novel, Fifth Business in which the narrator describes his childhood years and his best friend/nemesis, Percy:

…I had a turn for sarcastic remarks, which were known in our group as “good ones.” If I was pushed too far I might “get off a good one,” and as our community had a long memory, such dour witticisms would be remembered and quoted for years.

I had a good one ready for Percy if he ever gave me any trouble. I had heard his mother tell my mother that when he was a dear little fellow, just learning to talk, his best version of his [own] name, Percy Boyd, was Pidgy Boy-Boy, and she still called him that in moments of unbuttoned affection. I knew that I had but once to call him Pidgy Boy-Boy in the schoolyard and his goose would be cooked; probably suicide would be his only way out.

In totally unrelated news, the New York Times has a profile of bicycle advocate Earl Blumenauer. E. Blum has been our local representative since 1996, and after a dozen years of lobbying for sustainable transportation causes, it looks like his time may have come. (Translation: I really hope his time has come.)

These are excellent and odd times to live; the air is mixed with equal parts optimism and dread. (If we could just filter some pollutants out, we'd be getting somewhere.)

Making a Crack, Taking a Dig, and Hurling a Barb

Former talk-show host Dick Cavett blogs for the New York Times, and he recently mused on witty insults. One that stuck with Cavett over the years was a disagreement between two comedy writers that ended with one firing off, “Your parents owe the world a retraction.”

Cavett also includes a comment by Clement Freud, who was apparently not a Frank Sinatra enthusiast. Upon learning that Sinatra had been punched by a fan, Freud said, “That’s the first time the fan hit the s***.”

Blog commenters chimed in by the score; among their contributions is an apocryphal Frank Zappa story:

Joe Pine was one of the first TV hosts to specialize in haranguing and humiliating his guests and audience. Some attributed his nasty behavior to an outlook on life soured by having lost a leg and needing to wear a prosthesis.

Pine made the mistake of having Frank Zappa on his show and greeting him by saying, “Well, I guess that long hair makes you a girl.”

Zappa replied, “I guess that wooden leg makes you a table.”

Strangely, there’s another amputee anecdote: In London, stage comedienne Coral Brown saw “a theatre critic who had panned one of her performances. The woman, who had an amputated leg, was sitting at a table surrounded by an adoring coterie.

Coral strode to the table and in a voice no one could ignore, exclaimed: ‘How wonderful to see you with all of London at your foot!’”

Ooh, two more: Billy Wilder putdown another person's musical ability thusly: “He has Van Gogh’s ear for music.”

And when George Kaufman had a feud with producer Jed Harris, he said, “When I die, I want to be cremated, and have my ashes thrown in Jed Harris’ face.”

Nerd Humor, Defined

Shirt available from Threadless Ts.

The Most Brilliant Soldier in the Army: Benedict Arnold

“They, our agents… risked their lives... and died because this warped, murdering traitor wanted a bigger house and a Jaguar.”
James Woolsey, former Director of the CIA on American double-agent Aldrich Ames

Despite that scathing beat-down, Aldrich Ames is a mere also-ran in the dirty, rotten traitor sweepstakes. Benedict Arnold bears that crown, thank you. What scum! But despite his reputation, Arnold has a memorial (below) for being what historian James Thomas Flexner “the greatest combat general of the [Revolutionary] war on either side.”

As a high-ranking officer for the Colonists, Benedict Arnold’s bravery and leadership were instrumental in winning the battle of Saratoga, a victory that helped persuade France to ally itself with the Colonists. This was important— among other things, over 85 percent of the rebels’ gunpowder was French.

Since Benedict Arnold was shot in the leg at this battle, there is a statue of his boot at Saratoga National Park. The boot's inscription reads, “To the most brilliant soldier of the Continental army.” But the memorial’s founders were too chicken to add his name, so it's up to you to know who the "brilliant soldier" was.

Arnold was caught trying to surrender the West Point fort on the Hudson River to the Redcoats. The plan was found out before it came off, and Arnold fled to New York (a Loyalist stronghold). He stayed there from 1781–83, and then fled for England at war’s end. For his treason, Benedict Arnold was paid £6,315, which had the purchasing power of about half-a-million of today’s dollars. Despite this, he died broke.

But his boot will stand forever!

That photo above is by Naseem Khuri.

Death by Jewelry (and Why Authors Are So Generous)

Rose O’Neal Greenhow was the only American spy who was killed by her own jewelry. A gregarious socialite in Washington, DC, during the Civil War, Rose was actually gathering secrets about the Union army to pass along to the South. And this was good stuff; after Rose sent one message about troop movements hidden in a girl’s curls, the South got a big victory at the Battle of Manassas. (Jefferson Davis later gave Greenhow full credit for the victory.)

But the jig was eventually up. When Abe Lincoln’s very own detective, Allan Pinkerton, arrested Greenhow, she chewed and swallowed a secret message she was carrying. She was imprisoned for espionage and eventually exiled to the Confederate states. From there, the spying socialite traveled to Europe to lobby for the Confederate cause. She was surprisingly successful; it turned out that aristocrats could relate to the South. While in Europe, Greenhow's memoirs (My Imprisonment and the First Year of Abolition Rule At Washington) were published. It sold VERY well.

In 1864, Greenhow got on a British blockade-running ship to return home. She made it to the Cape Fear River near Wilmington, North Carolina. But as a Union gunboat gave chase, Greenhow gathered the gold and jewels her royalties had gained her and got in a rowboat. Bad move. After the boat capsized, the gold and her gigantic skirt, Greenhow sank like a gemstone, never to return.

And this explains why authors to this day donate the bulk of their royalties to charity.

Hey, that reminds me, have you ever seen that movie on intelligence gathering called Spy Kids? If so, you know that part when Carmen said, “Spy work, that's easy. Keeping a family together, that's difficult. And that's the mission worth fighting for”? I winced a little there. (Good movie, though.)

My sources are here.

Calabash-Wearers Will Be Prosecuted

As you can see, I’m an enthusiastic supporter of helmet laws. As such, I took particular note of this story from the BBC regarding motorcycle-taxi passengers in Nigeria trying to circumvent the nation’s mandatory helmet law in an unusual way.

They wear pumpkins shells on their heads.

The article (which contains the memorable line “Road safety officials said calabash-wearers would be prosecuted”) reveals that the gourd ruse is not working. Pumpkin-wearing passengers cause the motorcycle taxi drivers to have their bikes confiscated and generally make trouble for all parties concerned. So why do they persist? Are they afraid of being thought of as bumpkins? Pumpkinheads?

Ah, it's superstition! These passengers fear that any helmet provided by the taxi drivers could be used “to cast spells on their clients, making it easy for them to be robbed.”

If this sounds like magical thinking to you, try pushing the button for the 13th floor next time you get on an elevator. Can't do it, can you? Of course not. Nobody wants to be on the 13th floor. (Yes, yes, I know the 14th floor is really the 13th floor. Now go away... I can't get my pumpkin to fit right...)

Pumpkin helmet photo by Ben-Millett.

Mysteries of the Realm, Revealed

Newsflash: Seemingly inexplicable things happen each day. And here at Unexpectedly Bart!, we pride ourselves on either resolving these mysteries or muddying the icy waters even more. All of which brings us to a question that probably just struck you: Why do Bulgarian men jump into this lake each January 6th?

Answer: They're trying to get the cross which will be thrown into the water, thus insuring their health in the coming year. (Unless they die of pneumonia first.) It's a Bulgarian Orthodox New Year's tradition. (Photo from Der Spiegel.)

Here's another one: Why do the Australian/New Zealand editions of The Big Book of Girl Stuff and the The Big Book of Boy Stuff have different covers than the originals? I don't actually know, but the answer has to be marketing. While Girl Stuff enjoyed a relatively mild makeover, there now seems to be a demented subhuman on the cover of Boy Stuff. Clearly, Aussie/Kiwi readers are a hearty, rollicking group who enjoy subhumans! (Although you'd never know it from this thin-blooded review by Susan Whelan headlined "Bart King 'Big Books'— What's the Big Deal?")

One final New Year puzzler: Why did five relatively unexceptional photos from Whitefish, Montana that I posted on my Flickr page accumulate about 4,000 views in just one day? Dunno! (One shot is the "Safety Has No Quitting Time" above, and another is just below.) Looks like the veil of mystery will obscure the truth of this matter indefinitely. (And please, don't tell me it's just a Flickr glitch. This would deflate my ego to the point where it'd be draped all over the living room furniture.)

La Chance

Enjoy the good fortune of these folks from last year (especially those who avoided high-speed internal combustion devices)... and steel yourself against the Euro-synth agony of the soundtrack.

I Laughed While Reading, Part III of III

From Dry Storeroom No. 1: The Secret Life of the Natural History Museum by Richard Fortey

It might seem an odd ambition to try to get everyone to pronounce a word correctly. But mine has always been to get the world to say “trilobite” without fudging, and with a certain measure of understanding. My own mother was wont to say “troglodyte,” which at least has a certain prehistoric dimension, even if it refers to human cave dwellers rather than extinct arthropods several hundred million years older than humans.

“Did you have a nice week with the troglodytes, dear?” was one of her regular enquiries.

Fortey is also the author of Trilobite: Eyewitness to Evolution.

I Laughed While Reading, Part II of III

From Black Belt Patriotism: How to Reawaken America by Chuck Norris (Martial Arts Artist, Actor, Political Activist), p. 188.

Charles Péguy once said, "Tyranny is always better organized than freedom." Boy, is that the truth! The question still stands: Are we willing to sacrifice to assure not only our freedom but the freedom of future generations? Patrick Henry asked a similar question, "Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?...Give me liberty or give me death!"

...This is why John Quincy Adams' challenge still beckons across the years, "You will never know how much it has cost my generation to preserve your freedom. I hope you will make good use of it."

And what is good use?... Even Jesus said, "To whom much is given, much is required"....

More than ever, our nation needs a new generation of patriots. You will know them by the fact that they will still be the ones born in the trenches of life— in the midst of adversity. Their courage is like a tea bag: you never know its strength until it's in hot water. In other words, it takes guts to leave the ruts!...

Thomas Paine could be speaking to us today when he said [more quotes follow].

(Virtually any other page in the book will yield similar riches of name-dropping and reasoning.)

I Laughed While Reading, Part I of III

From Free-Range Chickens by Simon Rich:

GOD: Did you start that war over in South America?
ANGEL: Yes sir, just as you specified.
GOD: And you gave Fred Hodges that migraine? In Fayette, Maine?
ANGEL: Of course, I followed all your orders to the letter.
GOD: Okay, great. So the next part of my grand sweeping plan is… the next part is… um…
ANGEL: Yes?
GOD: Wait, hold on… I know I was going somewhere with this…
ANGEL: . . .
GOD: It’s the [darndest] thing. I had this giant, all-encompassing plan, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.
ANGEL: Did you… write it down somewhere?
GOD: Nah. It was all up here. (Points at head.)
ANGEL: Well… maybe if I say some of the things that you’ve done so far, you’ll remember?
GOD: That’s a good idea. Let’s try that.
ANGEL: Okay… um… assassination of Julius Caesar… the great San Francisco fire… World War I… World War II… is anything coming back?
GOD: I know all those things are connected somehow…. they were all part of this awesome plan I had… I just can’t remember what the payoff was.
ANGEL: . . .
GOD: I guess I bit off more than I could chew.