Me: “So. What do you think, Tony. Is Michael Jackson guilty?”
Ghost of Tony Randall: “How should I know? I’m a ghost. I’m not a mind reader.”
Me: “I realize that. I was just wondering if you had an opinion on the matter –”
Ghost of Tony Randall: “– You know, I am sick and tired of being treated like some otherwordly being with strange, quasi-mystical powers. I am just the same as I ever was. Only dead. And mostly translucent.”
Me: “Fine, sorry. My apologies.”
Ghost of Tony Randall: “– And I don’t need food. Or sleep. Or clothing. Or transportation…”
Me: “Sure –”
Ghost of Tony Randall: “– And I can achieve orgasm simply by thinking about it.”
Me:
Ghost of Tony Randall:
Me: “You finished?”
Ghost of Tony Randall: “Yes, sorry about that… Say, I don’t suppose you’d happen to have a cigarette on you, would you…?”*
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