Kevin, where are my manners? I should have written, “Great job, Kevin. You re-purposed the hell out of that high-tension tower and turned it into a fine looking radio antenna. BTW, is it AM or FM?”
But what’s the fun of simply paying compliments? Nah, let’s do some bxxx-busting. Yeah, Stan Jasinski, I forgot about him. Also, Father Justin’s Rosary Hour, broadcast live from Athol Springs. Sorry, but I don’t remember much about Lucky Urban. However, I do recall Urbanik, the transmission repair guy (Don’t panic, call Urbanik), because when my sainted mother’s Pontiac Le Mans with the air-conditioned unitbody suddenly stopped shifting gears, which is what happens when the hydraulic lines have rotted away, I took it to Urbanik, who convinced me the car needed a host of other things including a battery, which set us back several large. Hey, who can think clearly when it’s the dead of winter and he’s 2,500 miles from home?
Memo to Urbanik: If you still exist, I’m giving you a bad Yelp rating, dude!