Hence, a slight hiccup in our usual communion. So I'll say plainly: If anyone knows what's happening to my little greyish-white clicky friend, which groans not unlike E.T. in his plastic-wrapped sick ward, gasping for breath, for Elliott, for Coors, for Reese's Pieces, for Drew Barrymore, please phone home. As usual, Canadians are helpful, but I'm worried. My pal, my dear Flat Stanley, is ailing, and I need to take action. Save the Emdashes Terminal! For now, all I can do is say, "Coke. You see, we drink it. It's a, it's a drink. You know, food. These are toys, these are little men. This is Greedo, and then this is Hammerhead, see, this is Walrus Man, and this is Snaggle Tooth and this is Lando Calrissian, see...and look, they can even have wars. Look at this. Th-th-th-th-th-th. Uuuuuuuugh. Look, fish. The fish eat the fish food, and the shark eats the fish, and nobody eats the shark. See, this is Pez, candy. See, you eat it. You put the candy in here and then when you lift up the head, the candy comes out and you can eat it. You want some? This is a peanut. You eat it, but you can't eat this one, 'cause this is fake. This is money. You see. You put the money in the peanut. You see? It's a bank. See? And then, this is a car. This is what we get around in. You see? Car...hey, hey wait a second. No. You don't eat 'em. Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Stay. Stay. I'll be right here. OK? I'll be right here."