The older Andrews told me I looked grumpy at work today…. I denied it. He said, “maybe it’s just the way yo' face is fallin.” I probably did seem grumpy compared to Babs Monts, who is always especially cheery the mornings following her church’s night service (as near as I can tell: Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays.) It acts on her like a reverse hangover, which today peaked at 10 AM (around the time my face fell), when she yelled without warning: “Animals aint got no souls! That’s the Word talkin’ to YA!” Then she convulsed in a fit of what Jean Shepard would call "unconscionable laughter" which lasted a quarter hour… But all is well, now. I have Hell Night to watch on assignment of Final Girl and a case of beer in the fridge should I feel the need to anesthetize myself. Like the James Bond of film geek, I know that every picture has it’s correct match in booze. Never underestimate the importance of proper paring, and never drink red chianti with sole… it could get you killed. Tonight, for Hell Night: PBR mixed with orange juice, extra pulp.