So I have this thing about famous friends. I have these visions of my life wherein I’m Gertrude Stein and my buddy Ernest just comes by to hang and degrade women. Or that I just, you know, drop by the Algonquin for lunch sometimes because my friend Dorothy (Dot? Dotty? I’ll come up with a nick name for her soon) said I should drop by for a martini.
But this one is a new discovery, and my favorite yet. Tesla and Twain? I mean, at least it explains Mark’s hair.