It’s Sunday. Pray…
…for new glasses.
Isleys! You’d think they’d have earned enough money by then to afford shirts.
Peter Sellers being interviewed by a man wearing a motorcycle helmet made from his own hair.
I got the impression after a while of a Chihuahua asking questions of a leopard with a rumbling tummy.
I’m searching my mind for someone contemporary that you could point a camera at for this length of time without getting boring. A bit of the old shampoo…
I can’t imagine Sellers kept a pistol around the house. I can see temptation scrolling past the back of his eyes at all times.
How my father loved Peter Sellers. I miss them both.
We shall not mock them; it’s too cruel to add insult to injury. Perhaps it would be unwise to expose them to Little Donnie Pitts. They might do anything when they are disoriented, panicked, cornered, and unable to vote to make the non-cruise-ship-wedding-band-vocalist stop.
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