Oh. Hold on. Intern Nnanne just handed us an email. It's from Lauren Bacall. It reads...
Dear NB or whatever the hell you are,How cute of her to use a "P.S." Clearly she's no help right now. Oh, OK. Here's another email. It's somehow from the matzoh Catherine Zeta Jones. We won't ask. It reads...
Please get me out of this fucking stocking. This is certainly not my idea of an AIDS benefit.
P.S. I was promised lunch and a light afternoon snack.
Yyy wyn't fyckyng bylyyvy thys. Styp.Shit. It's in Welsh. Well, it'sh all we got.
Thy ryvyr pyrtyng ynd myss yxydys wyry thy wyrk yf lyttly M. Pyltryw-Myrtyn. Styp.Um, OK. We're going to do our best to translate.
Of course. Of course! It's so clear.
It was, of course, Moses.
What an astounding, yet completely logical way to end the NB's Pesach Day Parade. We couldn't have planned it better. Actually, we probably could have, but you try not falling asleep after ingesting 47 pounds of dough.
Please have a miserable Pesach.