I went to Neumo’s holiday party last night, because I harbor masochistic tendencies. The cigarette smoke in the club was as thick as mendacity in the White House. Upstairs, this guy working visuals asked me if I had a cigarette. I said no. He then asked if I minded fetching one for him. Bitch, that’s like asking the pope to pay for your abortion. So I just said, “Here, lick my notepad; that should sate your jones.”