[turns chair around, sits in it backwards, addresses camera] hey, human kids. you know, it's all well and good to listen to Tom Waits. Sure, we've all stashed a copy of "Swordfishtrombone" behind the toilet tank, there's no shame in admitting it. But if you find yourself identifying too closely with his music, you're headed down a dark path, amigo.

if you find yourself nodding, sighing and wistfully whispering "same" into your bourbon-stained pork-pie hat while listening to "Rain Dogs," it's time to seek help. remember, the first step is to stop eating cold beans out of a dead hobo's shoe down by the Cadillac graveyard off 34th and Calico, using your broken dreams as a spoon.