MGM actually made an entire movie — in Technicolor! — about Jane Powell and a fucking corset.

Shalom, howdy, yo and how’s the family from your friends at Howdygram headquarters! It’s around 10 p.m., Sam is asleep next to me on the sofa, and I’m pondering an email to the office manager — an individual named Kendall — at Elite Mobile Dental. He wrote to Sam this afternoon expressing surprise that I rejected my lower denture yesterday without “giving it an honest effort,” so I’m mulling whether or not to have them bring it back so I can try different kinds of adhesive (Fix-O-Dent powder and Sea Bond strips) to see if either of them works better (and is less disgusting) than paste.

However, Kendall is apparently a little confused about the history of my lower denture. He’s under the impression that I’ve been rejecting multiple decent dentures since the first of the year, subjecting Elite to unnecessary expense and multiple “after-hours appointments” … all of which is TOTAL HORSESHIT. Their first two dentures were atrocious, with which my dentist agreed wholeheartedly, and I never asked anybody for early or late appointments.

Regardless, I’ll keep you posted. I plan to answer Kendall’s email tomorrow morning, and I’ve already added Fix-O-Dent and Sea Bond to my next Wal-Mart order. Holy shit, all of a sudden I feel like such a goddamn COOT ...

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At present I’m watching Two Weeks with Love (1950) starring Jane Powell and Ricardo Montalban, a silly romantic comedy thing set at a Castkills resort around 1900. The plot primarily surrounds Jane Powell wanting to wear a corset but her parents (Ann Harding and Louis Calhern) won’t let her because she’s not 18 and they think she’s too young. No kidding … MGM actually made an entire movie — in Technicolor! — about Jane Powell and a fucking CORSET!

Jane Powell and Ricardo Montalban in “Two Weeks with Love.”

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Enough. I’ll try to write a decent (longer) post tomorrow. Right now my feet are killing me and I have to lie down. Please remember the Alamo and leave me alone already.