We were all clamoring for a rip-roarin’ pool party, Charterstone-style, and this just isn’t it. Maybe we’re a little early. Maybe the weather’s still a little chilly. But it just doesn’t seem quite right if we don’t catch of glimpse of the rare white Caledonian whale…
ONE DAY FOR A CHARTERSTONE POOL PARTY?! AND A WEEKDAY?!?
Things are just not right in Santa Royale. Still, while Toby was concentrating on her fat-free, flavor-free Pringles, Mary had been musing over returns (“Speaking of returns…”).
Who could it be? Aldo, back from the dead? Chester, having run away from his owner? Drew, dying of dysentery and/or syphilis? Charley Smith, ready for a new sexual conquest? The mind reeled for about 24 hours, and then…
Platitude-slinging in a freakin’ department store?!
Oh, well, you know the old saying, when life gives you a lemon potato, make Potato-Ade take Toby shopping:
I don’t know if this one is better, with Toby licking the window:
I just like the idea of Mary taking Toby “shopping,” and leaving her in a locked car.
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