[The laughter is like being showered in gold. More attention and applause, please, a former celebrity (minor but much beloved by listeners in LA and beyond) languishes without regular reassurance they still had it.

Even more delightful, Prior plays along and not shabbily, either. He switches to his own creation, Colonel Buford Kissdrivel: old southern money and pompous buffoon.] Well, I reckon anuhtha mint joo-lep oughta clear the air, mah dear, I'll meet you on the veranda with a pitchah and a pair o' highballs. [Normally, now.] I'd say standard spooks and rattling chains like old Jacob Marley might help. If you could drag the culprits down to hell with you that'd be even stevens.

[Prior brings up a good point. One he shamefully failed to consider, it's an obvious thing in retrospect. Richie puts his chin in his hand, rapping his fingers thoughtfully against his lower lip.] You're right. It is suspicious. The text itself only refers to stuff around Wyver and the religions there, even if most of that didn't turn out into complete sentences. Maybe it's the big wigs up here trying to get a closer look into whatever tricks they might try pulling down south.