Announcer. And now Brenneman’s Whole-Body Soap, the soap that replaces sixteen different anatomically specific soaps, presents…

(Music: Tinkly piano introduction.)

Announcer. Episode four hundred twenty-eight thousand two hundred thirty-six of The Blonde and the Feckless, created by Eusebius of Caesarea.

(Music: Theme: tinkly piano on a pillow of strings, fades under for…)

Announcer. As you recall, in yesterday’s episode, Emerson and Eleutheria were sitting at the bar in the Hard Luck Inn when Eleutheria said…

Eleutheria. I can take care of myself, you know. You’re not my dad. Or my mom. Or my Aunt Winifred. Or my second cousin once removed who lives in a trailer park in Clearwater. I’m an adult now. If I want to get drunk, I can get drunk. If I want to marry a ninety-four-year-old Russian nobleman who can’t put on his own socks, I can do that, and no one can stop me.

Emerson. I’m not trying to be your dad, and I wouldn’t know how to be your second cousin once removed. I’m just your friend. But remember that time you told me you’d always trust my judgment?

Eleutheria. You mean the time I ran into you in Genoa while you were on the trail of the jewel thieves who stole your identity and framed you for jaywalking and racked up a twenty-thousand-dollar Candy Crush Saga bill and you rescued me from drowning in the fountain after pirates had drugged me and dropped me from the mezzanine level of the Teatro delle Zucchine?

Emerson. Well, I guess you said it then, too, but I was thinking of the time I found you alone and scared in a vintage hat shop in Kinshasa and we had to disguise ourselves as Jehovah’s Witnesses to get past the perfume counter in the department store on the way out of the mall. You told me you would always trust my judgment, and I said I would try to make my judgment worthy of your trust. So…

Eleutheria. So what are you trying to say?

Emerson. I guess what I’m saying is, we’ve been sitting on these barstools having this conversation for five and a half weeks now, while the other characters’ plots have been advancing all around us, so I guess it’s time for me to ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask this whole time.

Eleutheria. It’s over there down the hall next to the kitchen.

Emerson. No, that’s— Well, yeah, I am going to want to use it in just a minute. But what I want to ask is, why are you really marrying the Count? Is it just to get back at Ethan for dumping you after you put a dent in his 1974 Monte Carlo while you were being chased by Peruvian alpaca kingpins in Kuala Lumpur?

Eleutheria. Well, what if it is? I can do what I want. Anyway, there’s more to it than that. Maybe I like older men.

Emerson. What I really mean to say, Eleutheria, is… Why are you marrying the Count when you could have me?

Eleutheria. Oh, Emerson! That’s so sweet! And I do really like you. So call me when you get a private jet and a superyacht and a dacha that covers an entire autonomous oblast, and we’ll talk.

Emerson. Well, I didn’t want to do this, but I guess it’s time to tell you what I found out about the Count.

Eleutheria. What do you mean?

Emerson. He didn’t really make his fortune in the organic-puffed-wheat business, you know. His company sold breakfast cereals to children with bright artificial colors and preservatives you can’t even pronounce.

Eleutheria. Well, even artificially colored children have to eat.

Emerson. I mean the cereals were artificially colored, not the children.

Eleutheria. You’re a liar! Alexei would never do that! I can’t believe you’d try to ruin my wedding with such utter codswallop! I never want to speak to you again!

(Sound: Splash, loud footsteps, slamming door.)

Emerson. Why, Eleutheria, you threw your drink in my face! And it made a sound like a bowling ball hitting a swimming pool, because that was all the effects guy could come up with! And then you stomped out and slammed the door! And now I’m sitting here alone and wet and talking to myself, because the bartender went home four and a half weeks ago!

Announcer. Will Emerson ever recover from the heartbreak of Bloody Mary stains all over his immaculately pressed white jacket? Tune in tomorrow for the next installing enthrallment of The Blonde and the Feckless!

(Music: Theme, in and under for…)

Announcer. Friends, are you tired of juggling sixteen different specialized soaps for different body parts every time you go into the shower? It’s more than inconvenient—it’s dangerous. Many injurious bathtub falls are related to mishandled soaps. Try Brenneman’s Whole-Body Soap, the soap that works on more than just your hands. It’s the only soap you need! Well, that and your shampoo. And conditioner. And a body rub for afterward. All from Brenneman’s of course. Brenneman’s Whole-Body Soap—the soap that replaces sixteen other anatomically specific soaps! Ask your druggist if he carries Brenneman’s products and beat him senseless if he doesn’t.

(Music: In full, then out.)

Rap-jazz fusion artist Felonious Thelonious wowed the crowd at Heptagon Gardens last night with a dozen new blank-verse rap numbers. Fans clapped along with the catchy 15/8 beat, and there was a standing ovation for MC Squawk, the accordion player who acted as accompanist. Felonious is scheduled to bust an iamb at Krzrnski’s Cafe beginning at nine tonight.

Not hot at all—Egg prices! They’re going down again! Now what will we complain about to get likes on social media? This is Joe Biden’s fault.

Lukewarm—Poetry. Sure, some people like it, but a lot of it is, like, really boring.

On the fence—Chain link: useful divider or public eyesore? We can’t decide!

Pretty hot—Plaid! Everything looks good in plaid!

Totally hot—Pottery kilns! It’s like a furnace in there!

The new production by the Dormont Shakespearean Theater of Hamlet, the well-known play by William Shakespeare, has drawn mixed reviews in the press. The Leader’s theatrical column praised the production as “a daring departure,” saying that the unusual choice to set the play in medieval Denmark, with the title character as the son of a murdered king, “brought a breath of fresh air to an otherwise familiar tale.” The Sun-Telegraph, however, while expressing appreciation for the “creative effort” behind the unusual production, was of the opinion that “Hamlet works best in a more traditional setting in line with its author’s intent, such as Nazi Germany or a big American tobacco corporation.” The Volksblatt critic thought the title character dithered too much and said that “he should just pull up his socks.”

Submarine engineers must have been much in demand in vaudeville if this one made it to the cover of the Billboard. But there were opportunities for all kinds of people on the performing circuit.

The advertisement above makes us wonder whether the shortage of lady leapers was directly related to the lack of an experienced catcher.

Culture Watch.—Tonight: The 47 ways overexplaining is destroying our culture. Featuring a panel of experts in psychology, education, astrology, media studies, chiropractic, auto mechanics, epidemiology, nuclear physics, backgammon, gender studies, zymurgy, and fourteenth-century Catalan poetry. 7 p.m. till our last expert drops from exhaustion.