Dear Fellow Dark Shadows Fans,
Yes, happy Friday the thirteenth to all of you good people out there, who are afraid to walk under a ladder, cringe at the thought of having a black cat cross your path, and, most of all, absolutely blanch white at the prospect of being assaulted by Bruno Hess' unbelievably "heaping" head of hair!
On another note, I'm delighted to inform you all, that P.T. Quentin Collins has agreed to admit himself for some much-needed treatment at the world famous Bobby Knight Clinic for Anger Management.
This highly renowned institution (named after the former, volatile head coach of the Univ. of Indiana basketball team) is a sister institution of the greatly respected Betty Ford Clinic for Substance Abuse. (Incidentally, this is another fine clinic that may prove to be of inestimable help to both the brandy-loving Quentin, and, Quentin's dipsomaniacal cousin, Roger Collins.)
Of course, the Bobby Knight Clinic for Anger Management has helped scores of "Type A" personalities with their "temper issues," explosive luminaries such as former NFL player and coach Mike Ditka, supermodel Naomi Campbell and recovering road-rage sufferer/actor Jack Nicholson, to name but a few.
So, hopefully, the clinic will be able to help P.T. Maggie Evans' new husband to resolve his anger issues, and to help Quentin lose his unfortunately well-deserved nickname of "Mr. Misanthropy."
Finally, I hope that Carolyn Stoddard Hawkes will be okay. First, Carolyn loses that once-in-a-lifetime, dream job she had secured just before the Todd Antique Shop went up in smoke like Bathia Mapes. And, now, Carolyn has become a very young, albeit, a still very fetching widow. What a bummer!
By the way, if Carolyn and Jeb had been "blessed" with a child, what the heck do you think their "offspring" would have looked like? (Somehow, I think that "baby" Jeb would have had a strong resemblance to the so-called "snake-boy" from the Strother Martin sci-fi flick, "Sssss.")
I do regret not being there "today," when on June 13, the former Leviathan leader took that final nosedive off of Widows' Hill. I think that I would have liked to have shouted something appropriate to him as he neared the jagged rocks below, say, something like: "Hey, Jeb, baby. Beware the ides of June!!!"
Sincerely,
Bob the Bartender, President of the Official Lovelady Powell Fan Club.
