Crutchmania erupted at the Grand last night as a gala celebrated the release of a book about New Albany, written by a hired gun from Tennessee, priced at $200 for signed and numbered copies, called: “Historic New Albany, Indiana: We Need More Money or That Garbage Stays Right There in the Can." Citizens eager to spend a week's pay for hackneyed prose fainted dead away when a tray of leftover cocktail weenies finally was tossed in their general direction.
Another satisfied celebrant: Honk honk, honk honk ("Gimme the largest Crutchfield you got, and put it on HIS tab").
Commissar CeeSaw choreographed the proceedings with Tiberian ease: "No, no -- MY way, understand, MY way. One way is THAT way, guys! C'mon, already."
"But ma, of course we'll take care of that cute fountain -- just like the parking lot next to Wick's."
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