Oh, What A Straight Shooter!
Here's all the rest of us suckers looking nervously into our drinks--praying that somebody might relieve the abortionist-induced tension of an otherwise inoffensive little party--and in walks Jack, shirtless and with a lampshade on his head, bellowing, "I'll say it even if nobody else will! I'd be willing to give the man a hummer if I thought it was gonna get me an OC!"
But June Callwood, Pierre Burton, Peter Gzowski? These are the great luminaries with which he hopes to be associated? Fuck me, that's depressing.