Fort Saint Davids walks in like he owns the place.
(That’s because he does!)
Chaos ensues. Nothing is going right. Everyone is mad about something. Nothing is working out. Nothing is getting done.
“What the hell is going on here, people?” cries FSD. “Why isn’t anyone working?”
BONES: You think this is my main job? Please.
FLOSS: Man you run a blog. Meanwhile I run the motherfuckin’ CITY.
FATHER GIBBS: Eat a blog.
LEGEND OF STREET DOG: …
FSD’s DATE #1: I’m not over my ex.
FSD’s DATE #2: You’re not over your ex.
FSD’s DATE #3: I think we should just be friends.
MARTHA: I already sent you the stories! Why aren’t they up yet? What’s the big idea?
DR. ATM: Do the vulture!
RENEE: Look, FSD, you seem overworked. You need to chill the fuck out.
FSD: What do you suggest I do, Renee? I’ve got a—
RENEE: What you need to do is take a nice, long, relaxing drive. Drive somewhere nice. Drive somewhere far. But the main thing is to drive.
FSD: You’re probably right, Renee.
RENEE: I usually am.
And with that, FSD and Renee head out of the office, cross the street to the parking lot, get in the car, and head off into the brilliant autumn afternoon.
Here’s their song, a pitch-perfect pop crystal from the late 80’s by the long-forgotten Vulgar Boatmen. Hop in the car, click the link, and get the fuck out of Dodge.