Q: Do lovebirds need to be kept inside?

A: Most of the men out here haven't seen a woman in years, let alone smelled one. Decades for some. If we let them near those lovebirds, they'd tear them apart. These are awful men. Bad. Violent. Evil. So evil. So evil, not even their mothers could love them - Lord knows some of them have tried.

The men, I mean. To love the mothers. In the physical sense.

I'm talking about men who try to make love to their own mothers. By "make love" I mean sex, good, old-fashioned fucking, in the procreational sense. Sodomy, too. To their own mothers.

Pretty awful, isn't it.

Yessir, these men are animals. No other way to put it. If we let the conjugal visitors outside of the restricted area, let them out into the yard, those no telling what these beasts would do. It wouldn't be pretty, I can assure you of that. These beasts, these things, they think like filth. They are filth. Do you have any idea what they'd do to a woman, a woman as beautiful as that?

Here, let me show you.

I've seized these drawings over the years, each one made by a prisoner inside these walls. Look at this smut.  Look at the details. They've put a lot of thought into it. I can hardly stand to look at them. No more than an hour or so. Two tops.

No, there's no way we can let these monsters, these horrible, brutal monsters - with their filthy minds, and their strong sinewy arms, and their rock-hard, bulging neck muscles, and their total disregard for common decency - anywhere near those sweet, young marrieds, expressing their love in the missionary position, as God intended. Those lovebirds must stay inside, for their own good. As long as they stay on that side of the room, under the light, where the camera can see them. It does me no good if they roll to the floor or make love in the shadows. None of the lifers will pay a penny for that.

Q: What is the hard surface of earth?

A: The hardest part of the earth's surface is the crust. It protects the mantle and the core. It's miles thick and very hard.

You didn't break your claws on the earth's crust. You broke them on concrete. You're trying to dig through a swimming pool. You can't tunnel through a swimming pool.  Every mole knows that.

But you're not really a mole, are you?

You might have fooled everyone else, but you can't fool me. I know you're not a mole. You're one of those mole-like people who live in the sewers and hide from the sun. I know it. Don't lie to me.

I've suspected it for months now, ever since you stumbled into our mole-hill and start hanging around and asking all those questions. You asked a lot of questions for a mole. Too many. That was my first clue.

My second clue came when you refused an extra helping of dirt. Who would refuse more dirt? Dirt is delicious. Everyone knows that. Every mole at least.

But, as I said, you're not a mole. Not that I've seen you dig, I know for sure. You're a pale, hairy, shriveled, little man. Sad. Lonely. Looking for some friends.

You'll find no friends down here.

Don't pretend you can't see me when I'm talking to you!

Q: How are emu's hunted and caught and killed and cooked?

A: I've been hunting emus for over thirty years, ever since that fateful day - my eighth birthday - when a wild emu trampled my birthday cake to death. Also, my father. He jumped on top of the cake. Or was pushed. I can't really remember. Either way, the emu got him.

They're a challenging foe, the emu. Strong. Fast. Clever. Wicked. Cruel.

That son of a bitch trampled that cake like it was tissue paper. It was an ice cream cake. A Greatest American Hero ice cream cake. That cake meant the world to me. The emu didn't care. It seemed to enjoy my pain. I can still it laughing as it stuck a hoof in that cake and tore it to pieces. It was either laughter or screams - my father's screams - I can't quite recall. It was so long ago. My father had a weird scream, sounded like a laughed. Weird laugh, too. Sounded like a scream. Either way, I remember some sort of loud noise. It's haunted me ever since.

You can only catch an emu by surprise. You can't hunt them head on, like a horse or a bear or a homeless man, you need a large net, or a deep pit. Once cooked, they taste like unicorn. Tender, delicious unicorn.

So I've been told. I've never cooked one. Or caught one. Or seen one.

At least, not since that day.

But I'm bound to see one eventually. Emus always return to the scene of the crime. I hope. They better. I really don't have a back-up plan.

I've dug this pit in the exact spot where I had my party. Where the emu killed my father. Where the emu destroyed my cake. When I close my eyes, I can still see his face, torn apart by the emu.

William Katt's face, drawn in frosting. Got all over the place. I really don't remember my father's face. I was a kid. We weren't that close.

As I was saying, I dug this pit in the exact spot where I last saw the emu. He's bound to come back. An emu never forgets all the birthday's he's ruined. I coined that phrase. I tried to sell it to Hallmark, turn it into a line of cards. They wrote me a very lovely letter saying they were not interested, and to never contact them again.

Nice people.

Yup, this pit is in the exact same spot as my birthday party. Took me ten years to dig it. A lot has changed since then. That tree used to be shorter, that lake deeper and that parking lot used to be a zoo. Other than that, it's exactly the same. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work.

Here emu, emu, emu. I'm waiting.

Q: How can the President persuade Congress to pass a bill?

A: Convincing Congress to set aside their partisan differences and actually do their job is one of the most difficult, and unfortunately, most common tasks required of the President. Luckily, there are a few proven methods.

Use eloquent locution to convince them that the nation needs this bill passed now, more than ever. All it takes is a few well-crafted sentences, some well timed pauses, and the occasional podium thump.

Use the power of the liberal media to shame them into passing the bill or risk months and months of negative coverage during the campaign. All it takes is a few calls to the New York Times.

Use backroom political maneuvering - good, old-fashioned glad-handing and arm-twisting - to get them to do your bidding. All is takes is a new missile silo here, a new bridge there and a severe cut in arts funding.

Yes, sir, you have any number of tactics at your disposal. You can do almost anything. Almost anything.

One thing you cannot do, sir, is use military force. That far exceeds your powers as Commander-In-Chief. It's illegal, immoral, and if I may be frank, sir, rather petty.

It doesn't matter what the Speaker called you, sir, you can't have Seal Team 6 take him out.

You can't use Robot Shark Team 6 either, sir. Even if they did exist. Which I cannot confirm.

Q: Where to buy a rebuilt car battery?

A: Here at Autozone, we sell only the finest car parts and accessories, from name brand manufactures. You won't find a second-hand part here at Autozone. Every single part and accessory in the store comes straight from the factory, complete with a guarantee; if it doesn't work, you -

- Sir! Sir, are you okay? Do you need help? Should I pick you up, or should I call 911?

I'm sorry, sir, I can't understand you. You'll have to speak clearly. Use your words. I don't understand your metallic, clanging language.

Where are those flashing lights coming from?

Why did you paint your body silver? And how do you make it so smooth and shiny?

I don't understand sign language. What are you trying to say?

You're pointing at your chest ... Heart. Is that it sir? Are you a fan of the band Heart?

No?

What is that beeping?

Heart ... Heart ...

Sir, please don't pull up your shirt, this is a family store.

Now you're pointing at the gaping hole in your chest. Heartless. You're heartless. Is that it? You're a heartless monster who will die alone!

I didn't mean to get so excited. I probably shouldn't have yelled that. I'm sure your kids love you.

Okay, sir, I can figure this out.

Sir?

Sir?

We're going to need a clean up in aisle 8. Bring a mop. There's a lot of oil.