Keef Chronicles: The Keith Richards Reader

Posted on August 2, 2012

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The Keef Chronicles: our founder.

Last June, a funny thing happened: two people got together for dinner. One was a former U.S. President, state governor, law school graduate and general all-around “doer of good deeds” who has dedicated his life, with a few notable transgressions, to public service.

The other was a former junkie of spectacular notoriety, founding member of one of rock and roll’s most famous, infamous and enduring bands, premier poster child for hedonistic excess and, for many years of his life, the walking embodiment of “everything your parents are afraid you’ll turn into if things go wrong.” I’m talking, naturally, about Bill Clinton and Keith Richards.

I’ll admit my sense of humor skews more toward the absurd than most people’s, but I still can’t look at that photo without laughing out loud. I mean, seriously? That may be the oddest odd couple of all time.

And while I can’t deny my respect for Keith Richards — he’s a survivor of the highest order — I also can’t deny that I find him, almost inexplicably sometimes, hilarious. He’s a man, I think, who singularly embodies the rock and roll ethos and lifestyle, at the complete expense of everything that falls outside of the rock and roll realm.

Seeing him outside his fundamental element — away from the recording studio, the concert stage, a Jack Daniel’s bottle, a small pile of cocaine — is jarring, like stumbling across a photo of Albert Einstein as a young man, recognizable but indistinct and somehow smaller in stature without the trademark tangle of crazy white hair.

And so I had a funny little idea that probably only seemed funny to me: find some Keith Richards photos (thank you, internet, and *sorry, photograph copyright holders) and write stories around them. Silly stories – Keith working as the handyman at his local pub, Keith leading an aerobics class at the mall, Amish Keith kicking ass at the big barn-raising – but stories that put our hero into ordinary situations that push against his innate “Keithness”- i.e. his slightly befuddled state of perpetual, low-grade intoxication, “Duke of Rock” entitlement and limited scope of real-world experience – and wait for that essential “Keithness” to seep through. I can’t think of any other way to explain it.

So, herewith, the entire collection of “Keef Chronicles” to date, presented for your cautious and curious perusal. I hope you find some of these as entertaining as I do…

Keef Chronicles: The Kool Aid Incident

June, 1997

“Fucker! He did it to me again!”

In a protest over unpaid wages, Keith’s guitar tech soaks the master’s telecaster strings in Kool Aid before a show at RFK Stadium on the “Bridges to Babylon” tour. Keith, busy kibitzing backstage with magician Doug Henning and the young actor who played “Eddie” in “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father” doesn’t notice until it’s too late.

As the band hits the stage and launches into Start Me Up, Keith’s left hand gets stuck in the sugary stickum on his guitar neck and becomes immobile, rendering him incapable of playing any chord other than ‘D’ for the rest of the show.

Keef Chronicles: The Dartford Latino

February, 1993

“Hey Carleeto- you remember me? I’m Benny Blanco from the Bronx.”

Keef gets bitten by the acting bug and has his people set up a meeting with director Brian DePalma, still casting for the lead in Carlito’s Way. Desperate to impress DePalma with how “method” he is, Richards undergoes melanin treatments to darken his skin, grows a pencil mustache, and eats plantain chips for a month.

DePalma is unimpressed, noting that Keith’s hispanic accent sounds too much like an East London fish monger to be of much use.

The part goes to Al Pacino instead. Keith consoles himself with a vacation to Puerto Rico, impressing the local ladies with his new “Dartford latino” sensibility.

Keef Chronicles: Burbank Séance

November, 1993

Keef, at the press conference announcing his new talk show, thanking reporters for their continued support.

Fox Television executives, desperate to hold on to advertising revenue earmarked for the just-cancelled Chevy Chase Show, try tricking Keith into hosting a replacement talk show as a stop gap measure.

Network suits hire a psychic who, using a complicated system of wires and pulleys, enacts a fake séance in which the ghost of bluesman Tampa Red appears to Keith and tells him that hosting a network talk show is his “great, funky destiny- my unwashed limey white boy progeny.” A stunned Richards signs a contract on the spot and demands that the psychic be installed as his co-host.

The Keith Richards Show with Your Host Keith Richards airs in the fall of 1993, successfully serving as a repository for the earmarked advertising funds but baffling viewers with its languid pace and long stretches of uncomfortable silence.

Keith, uninterested in interviewing politicians and celebrities, spends the duration of each show’s running time acting as his own, unaccompanied, musical guest, stopping occasionally to pepper the psychic with queries of “When’s Tampa coming back?”

Four shows into the run, all advertising monies successfully banked, network executives have Tampa Red “reappear” to thank Keith for all his hard work before telling him to fly home to New York and await further instructions.

Keef Chronicles: Amish Interlude

March, 1966

Keef, wondering why Amish men grow those strange beards.

KO’d by 3 hits of mescaline during a tour stop in Hershey, PA, Keith goes AWOL and turns up a week later at the farm of Abram & Ruth Swartzendruber on the outskirts of rural Lancaster. Skeptical at first, the family slowly warms to him as he proves himself to be strong on the plow, good with the butter churner, and a quick-study with castrating bulls and beheading chickens.

For a time, Richards leads an idyllic existence; he even manages to score the pole position in the sweepstakes for the Swartzendruber’s daughter, but a disagreement with Isaac Hilty during Sunday sermon turns ugly. Not willing to take a backseat when Hilty insists on being the featured guitarist for the Ausbund hymns, Richards grabs Hilty’s guitar and cracks the boy across the skull, blinding him in the process.

In the ensuing fracas, Richards escapes but loses his hat, an event that will later inspire the song I Lost My Amish Hat, an outtake from the Aftermath sessions.

Keef Chronicles: Zonked Out in the Conch Republic

Key West 2004

Keef, just another drunk doing the Duval St. shuffle.

Vacationing with friends on the 50 foot schooner Natural Tendencies, an inebriated Keith becomes separated from his entourage and accidentally stumbles into the World Sailfish Championship awards banquet on Key West’s Mallory Pier.

After making small talk and posing for pictures, Richards abruptly lurches to the podium and yanks the microphone out of the startled emcee’s hands, tucking the 1st place trophy under his arm and serenading the audience with a slurred a capella version of Chuck Berry’s Too Much Monkey Business. 

The baffled spectators try to play along but Richards is not amused, barking into the microphone, “You’d know the words if it was Milli Vanilli, ya fucks!” before throwing his hands up in disgust and stumbling out onto Duval Street.

Two days later, a Kentucky couple are alarmed to find a naked Richards sleeping it off in the front bushes of their Siesta Key rental property. Regaining consciousness before the police can arrive, Keith knocks on the back door and asks the couple if they’ll make him some eggs.

Keef Chronicles: Rock and Roll Handyman

London 1987

Keef: The Lonely Rock and Roll Handyman, using his telecaster as a level to check the setup on the pool table.

Upset that Mick Jagger has blown off the Stones to tour the States as a solo act, Keith announces to friends that he’s giving up rock and roll and going straight.

Two days later he shows up at the door of his local pub and offers his services as a handyman, brandishing his guitar as proof of his sincerity. “Ain’t nuttin’ but a fancy hammer, this,” Keith boasts. “Don’t be fooled, mate. I can fix whateva you got goin’ here.” Angus Blitherlee, proprietor of the Dancing Goat, tells Richards he’ll throw him whatever work he can find and proposes they square their accounts with pints of Guinness, instantly becoming the most foolish man in the history of Great Britain.

Richards spends the first few weeks on his best behavior, using his telecaster to hammer nails, smooth grout, and rip out cinder block walls. As time passes, however, the phrase “just gonna grab a pint, mate” becomes a steady mantra that echoes with unyielding frequency, dulling the vigor of the world’s most famous rock and roll handyman.

Soon, the proprietor has a pub in various states of disrepair and an inventory bereft of Guinness. Keith apologizes, assuring Blitherlee he’ll rectify the situation as soon as his next royalty check comes in. The next day, he boards a flight for New York to begin recording the X-Pensive Winos first record, never to be seen at the Dancing Goat again.

Keef Chronicles: Exercising Options

April, 2005

Keef, feeling the burn: “Elbows out, ladies. Elbows OUT!!”

Unexpectedly pinched at the San Diego airport for a 1/2 ounce of cocaine he’d forgotten was in his sock, Keith pleads down to misdemeanor possession by agreeing to shoot his own exercise video at a local shopping mall and donate the proceeds to charity.

Skeptics express their doubts as the date draws closer, but on the day of taping, Richards shows up on time and hands out 50 telecasters to an assembled crowd of fans, reporters, and confused Radio Shack employees. After warming up backstage with a thumb-sized spliff, Keith leads the makeshift band in a 7-song mini set and surprises everyone by demonstrating a surprising familiarity with traditional exercise-video jargon.

By the end of the session, attending exercisers have burned 600 calories and earned themselves a Richards-endorsed banana smoothie in a commemorative cup topped with crushed macadamia nuts and 100 proof Jamaican rum.

Keef Chronicles: Tofu Loco

Winter 2001

Keef, examining another guitar pick: “This one still ain’t right.”

Out on the road for a grueling 10 city/20 show stretch, Keith hits a rough patch when his nutritionist puts him on an all-tofu diet and tells him to lay off the sauce. The resulting deficiency in his Vitamin C levels creates an extended period of obsessive/compulsive behavior that threatens to derail the tour.

Band members and managers quickly learn to adapt but it’s the guitar techs who suffer the full brunt of Richard’s micro-managing; spending long hours schlepping cases of guitar strings, amplifier tubes, and guitar straps in an effort to satisfy the whims of their newly obsessive master.

In one 12-hour period in Miami, Richards goes through 15,000 guitar picks in an elusive search for the perfect plectrum, creating a shiny pile of discards on his hotel room floor before settling on 16 “winners” and giving his exhausted minions explicit instructions on how to carry out further customizations.

Waking the next day to find that the guitar techs have quit the tour, Richards protests by playing the Miami gig in his underwear and makes a big show of requesting that Ronnie Wood present him with a new guitar pick for each song the band plays. Wood reluctantly complies.

Keef Chronicles: Flashback French Fries

Rome 1972

Keef, napping while Rome burns.

Crashing for a few weeks at a friend’s villa between legs of the Stones’ world tour, Keith wakes up one afternoon with a craving for french fries. Finding that he’s alone in the house, he wanders out to the kitchen and starts rummaging through the freezer, grunting triumphantly as he pulls out an unopened bag of Ore-Ida Crispers.

He rips the bag open and dumps the contents onto a sheet pan, then stops to regard the oven. “Strange contraption, this,” Keith thinks. “Me mum used to have one.”

Puzzled, he slides the sheet pan onto the rack and begins to peck at the dials. A little of this button, a bit of this knob, tweaking like an apprentice alchemist on his first day at the laboratory.

He’s still piddling away when the sensation of innocent discovery kicks down a secret door in the backwater regions of his brain. As he looks around the kitchen in horror, the walls and floor melt away and Richards drops into the phosphorescent abyss of a full-on acid flashback.

Suddenly, Keith is no longer a man trying to cook french fries but a space explorer hovering over a field of molten star lava as silver monkeys chase him in shiny machines made of banana pudding. He must learn to manage the thrusting power of his jet pack if he has any chance at survival. Desperate, he tacks left and right with the oven’s temperature and timer knobs, slamming the oven door open and shut when he needs an extra burst of speed. Slinky blonde gargoyles with D-cups giggle in the distance as bits of flotsam and jetsam hurtle past Keith’s helmet.

High above, a frowning Mick Jagger materializes, unfurling his cape to reveal the Queen of England, naked from the waist down, who shoots a ray of light from her index finger and illuminates the path to safety. Smiling benevolently, she proffers a telepathic “All is well, my child” while simultaneously pouring hot maple syrup over a snarling leprechaun. Keith is saved.

27 terrifying seconds later, the flashback subsides and Richards stumbles out of the kitchen towards his bedroom at the back of the house. Wheezing like a man who has just run a 2 minute mile, he collapses onto a chair and promptly passes out. The oven, though, has been set to high broil. After ten minutes, the french fries begin to burn. Five minutes past that, flames lick the curtains in the kitchen window, igniting a fire that quickly engulfs the whole villa.

Later, after an alert neighbor pulls him to safety, Keith will remember nothing of the incident except the leprechaun who, he says, kept chanting “More catsup, Mr. Ricky” over and over.

Keef Chronicles: The Backstage Burrito

Portland, Oregon 1997

Keef, letting loose on stage.

Backstage at PGE Park before a show on the Bridges to Babylon tour, Richards gets into a heated argument with Ronnie Wood over who between them is the more authentic lover of true Mexican cuisine. Wood points out that Peruvian ancestry on his mother’s side makes heat and spice natural staples of his diet but Keith, never one to let sound logic keep him from winning an argument, calls Wood’s bluff.

Proclaiming his band mate a “fucking wanker poof tosser,” Keith reaches for the largest burrito in the backstage spread and slathers it with Grumpy Bastard’s Dead on Arrival hot sauce, a Portland staple.

As backstage personnel try desperately to dissuade him, Richards defiantly plows the entire burrito into his mouth and slugs it down like a four year old with a stolen Twinkie. Beaming at Wood triumphantly, Keith’s gloating is short-lived when the stage lights dim and the band must hustle into position for the opening set.

For the first few songs, Richards performs like a man possessed, reeling off inspired and animated riffage during “Rocks Off” and “Star Fucker.” But, in a coincidence that rock historians will later attribute, gigglingly, to divine karma, Richards’ lower gastrointestinal tract hits a snag as the band breaks into DooDooDooDooDoo (Heartbreaker) and the guitarist becomes noticeably agitated, stiffening up then doubling over as fans seated stage left applaud what they think is Keith’s attempt at imitating guitarist Angus Young of opening act AC/DC.

Band mates shoot him curious looks and concerned glances but only Keith can help Keith and, staking out a spot in the corner of the stage, he finally gives in to the inevitable and voids the burrito into his black Levis, staggering offstage during the song’s second chorus to locate some clean trousers. In the audience, 57,000 people exchange bewildered looks, trying to decide if they’ve just witnessed the dark prince of rock and roll pooping his pants.

Reviewing shots of the concert later, tour photographer Alan Johnston realizes he has snapped Keith at the apparent moment of detonation, capturing a still that the Taschen Publishing Group will later purchase for inclusion in their oversized coffee table volume, “Famous People Shitting Themselves in Public,” a surprise Christmas hit in Australia.

Keef Chronicles: Man in the Ray Charles Glasses

Toronto 1972

Keef, taking his $3,000 investment out for a test drive.

Ray Charles is a man who enjoys the finer things in life. A nice suit, a good beaujolais, some fancy wheels. He’s also a man who very much likes to save money.

Sitting in his dressing room backstage during the Canadian leg of the Rolling Stones’ 1972 tour, Ray Charles is pondering a dilemma. He has fallen in love with a car owned by Stones’ manager Marshall Chess, a 1967 Jaguar XKE in which Charles rode shotgun the previous afternoon as he and Chess made very quick work of the drive from Buffalo to Toronto. After inquiring as to his interest in doing business, Chess has offered to sell Ray his Jaguar for $3,000.

Charles has the $3,000 to spare but would prefer to hold onto it. Having seen the way the Rolling Stones and their entourage go through money, he knows there must be a way to pry three grand from these silly limey boys with their scarves and their mascara.

He’s still thinking on it when Anita Pallenberg, girlfriend to Stones’ guitarist Keith Richards, walks past his dressing room with her friend Deirdre. “Hi, Ray,” they both coo as they stroll past Charles’ dressing room door.

As they continue down the hallway, Charles overhears an interesting nugget of information; Pallenberg casually mentions to Deirdre that she’s not wearing underwear- today is the day her nanny takes care of the laundry.

Charles turns to his assistant, Kendrick, and smiles. “Meet me out by the stage in five minutes,” he says. Five minutes later, Charles and Kendrick are engaged in conversation by the backstage area when Keith Richards walks by on his way to soundcheck. “I just need to figure out,” Ray is telling Kendrick loudly, “Who I should give these MAGIC GLASSES TO.”

Richards’ head snaps to the side. “Magic glasses? What’s that, Ray?”

“I was just talking to my friend Kendrick, here,” Ray tells Keith. “I was telling him that I’ll be picking up my new glasses when we get back to the States. That means I need to find someone to give my old glasses to. Someone worthy of having them. Because they’re magic glasses.”

Richards looks skeptical. “What’s so magical about them?

“Well,” Charles says. “They’re magic because they can do magical things if your mind is in tune. Watch this.” Ray turns towards Anita Pallenberg, who is sitting on a road case 30 feet away. “I bet I can tell you what color underpants your girlfriend is wearing.” Ray grins wide, then looks back at Keith. “Oh my,” he says. “She’s not wearing any underpants.”

Richards’ is bemused. He looks at Anita, then he looks at Ray. Then he walks over to Anita and whispers in her ear. Anita looks at Keith. “No,” she says, smiling. Keith’s face goes white. He walks back over to Ray. “Ok, Ray. I’ll take ’em, mate,” he says.

Ray Charles smiles. “There’s a small fee involved. Three thousand dollars.”

Keith doesn’t hesitate. “You got it,” he says.

Ray Charles turns to his friend Kendrick and, wearing the largest shit-eating grin since Peter Minuet bought Manhattan from the Indians says, “Looks like we got ourselves a new ride.”

Keef Chronicles: Leggo My Limo

Cleveland 1973

Keef, open for business; “Let me show ya how it’s done, boys.”

Impressed with the contemporary aesthetic pioneered by the new Swingos Hotel in Cleveland, a luxury hostel that caters specifically to the decadent depravity of the touring rock and roll musician, Keith purchases four Cadillac Fleetwoods at auction and opens up his own Cleveland limousine service as a complementary venture.

Christened, with typical ’70s rock and roll élan, Barmy Jim’s On-Call Mobile Medicinal, Richards appoints his limos with the finest hi-fi equipment and hires four drivers through a classified ad in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. He also spreads word through the rock and roll grapevine that a Keith Richards limo comes equipped with a “fifth of Jack and an eighth of gak,” hoping to assume primacy among those competing for the local rock transportation dollar.

Things go swimmingly on opening weekend with the Carpenters. Keith even flies in from London and personally chauffeurs Karen Carpenter around town, snorting all the complimentary coke himself as he barrels through red lights and narrowly avoids pedestrians and telephone poles.

But two weeks later, he makes the mistake of taking on Led Zeppelin for their 3-night stand at Richfield Coliseum. Drummer John Bonham and road manager Richard Cole, no strangers to debauchery, discover they have plenty in common with the drivers, ex-convicts all.

What results is an unholy alliance that culminates in a 12-hour coke-fueled orgy of public lechery and felonious assault that rips its way, like a substance-addled cockney buzzsaw, through most of the Cleveland metro area. In the end, two limos are totaled during a police chase, two are torched by Cole and Bonham in an attempt to destroy evidence and Keith’s entire investment goes up in a cloud of smoke, subpoenas and acrimonious recrimination.

Years later, after a short return to prison, the four drivers discover they share a musical bond and form a group they name Mad Hatter. Epic records signs them to a multi-album deal and they appear destined for success until the lead guitarist attacks an off-duty cocktail waitress during an appearance on American Bandstand.

An alert Dick Clark, standing off-camera in the only Bandstand episode that never aired, pulls a .22 caliber pistol from his ankle holster and pumps two shots into the musician’s left thigh, ending the attack and the band’s career in one fell swoop.

Keef and Bill Re-Enact ‘My Dinner With Andre’

I first saw this picture in the latest issue of Rolling Stone. Great caption, too: “Spying police outside, Richards talked Clinton into carrying his doggy bag.”

According to Secret Service agent, Richards claims Charlie Watts shot him with a 25-caliber pistol sometime in '71.

Words fail.

And that got my mind to thinking… It’s difficult trying to imagine these two debating the Iranian nuclear dilemma over snackies and drinks at some chi chi New York supper joint. And, while I’m sure they share certain predilections, Keith Richards and Bill Clinton do not appear, at first blush, to fall anywhere near the category of kindred spirits, bosom buddies, or even casually acquainted Manhattan scenesters.

Is it safe to assume that there were handlers present, as well? I have to think so. Keef, because he probably hasn’t poured a glass of water, purchased a pack of cigarettes, or chopped  a line of coke for himself since the mid ’60’s and Clinton because, well, I don’t know. It just seems like there would need to be someone there to make sure Mr. Clinton doesn’t lose face:

“Mr. Richards, um, President Clinton would like to ask you if you’re enjoying your tagliatelle bolognese. Could you stop fidgeting with your hat and bouncing your knee and face this way, please? Hands on your lap, Mr. Richards. Th…on your lap. No, your lap. Thank you.”

And I have to think that this happened, too: after the plates have been cleared and Keith lights up a Marlboro Red directly under the ‘No Smoking’ sign, Clinton goes into a story about how he and Chelsea used to 2-step to ‘She’s My Little Rock and Roll’ in the Arkansas Governor’s mansion. Keef scratches his nose and cocks his head to the side, knee bouncing up and down, and spies the waitress attending to the adjacent table.

“Darlin,” he says. “Go in the kitchen and tell Donald I’m ready for me dessert now.”

The server gives him a blank look. “Sir, there’s no one in the kitchen named Donald.”

Keith, unfazed, replies, “Just go in the kitchen and make an announcement. ‘Dah-nold, Mr. Richards is ready for his snow puddin’ now. Go on,” he says, making a ‘run along child’ gesture with his left hand as he turns back to face Clinton.

Two minutes later, the server comes back with dessert menus for the table. She gives Keith his menu first; his looks to be slightly bulging. While Clinton and his handlers take their menus, Keith looks left, right and behind him before holding the menu over his lap and opening it up wide. A brown paper bag falls into his napkin with a gentle ‘thup.’

Keith puts the menu on the table and looks up at Clinton with a big grin. “Think I’ll take my dessert at home with Patti tonight,” he rasps. “Looks like they made me up something special in the kitchen. My grip’s a little weak, though, your majesty.” He holds up the bag. “Would you mind carryin’ this out for me and givin’ it to me limo driver?”

Look at the picture again and tell me this didn’t really happen…

Secret Service Agent Gives Account of Clinton, Richards Summit in Lower East Side Eatery

On June 8th, 2011, former President Bill Clinton and Rolling Stones’ guitarist Keith Richards were spotted exiting the NYC eatery Craft after an informal night of dinner and cocktails. While a quick picture snapped outside the restaurant has been, up to now, the only evidence of the meeting, News Stories from a Parallel Universe was recently able to score an exclusive sit-down with one of several Secret Service agents on hand for the purpose of providing security for Mr. Clinton. To protect his identity, we’ll refer to our source as ‘Agent X.’ 

Parallel Universe News: Thanks for agreeing to meet with us. Give us a rundown of what your responsibilities are when a meeting like this happens.

According to Secret Service agent, Richards claims Charlie Watts shot him with a 25-caliber pistol sometime in '71.

Agent X: An hour before the dinner we do a standard ‘pre-screen.’ We sweep the place of business looking for weapons, explosives, etc. If we don’t find anything, we alert the president’s staff that the area is clean and safe for him to populate. An hour later, President Clinton arrives at the restaurant with 2 people from his staff in tow.

PUN: What about Mr. Richards?

Agent X: Mr. Richards didn’t arrive until a couple hours after that, looking a little confused. He wasn’t thrilled to see us. He looked a little pissy when we gave him the metal detector wand and the pat down. He also has a habit of calling everyone ‘Curly,’ like, ‘Hey Curly, is that a big gun on your hip or are you just happy to see me?’ and then he laughs this big raspy laugh like he just smoked a carton of cigarettes 5 minutes ago.

PUN: Metal detector? How did that go?

Agent X: Thing went batshit. After having him take off his rings, his earrings, his boots, his belt, his other belt, the silver beads in his hair, the scarves on his arm, we finally gave up. According to Keith, there’s a 25-caliber slug that’s been lodged in his left thigh since 1971. He says Charlie Watts plugged him one night in France after they got into a fight over some 14 year old groupie.

PUN: What happened next?

Agent X: I assume Charlie Watts took the groupie back t0…

PUN: No, I mean what happened with Richards?

Agent X: He probably grabbed his buck knife and…

PUN: AT THE DINNER.

Agent X: After he sat down at the table, we gave him the spinner.

PUN: What’s the ‘spinner?’

Agent X: The spinner is a small bio-mechanical device that detects trace amounts of narcotics and then interpolates a person’s general toxicity based on their approximate height and weight. You only need to point it at someone for about 5 seconds. It’s common to use it for public occasions like this because you want to know if the person you’re protecting is in the presence of someone who could pose a threat; someone who might be in a potentially violent or irrational chemical state.

PUN: So, what happened when you pointed it at Keith?

Agent X: When we aimed it at Richards, the spinner went fucking haywire. I mean haywire, never seen anything like it. I thought the thing was gonna melt.

PUN: How did Richards seem?

Agent X: Absolutely fine. A little antsy but we were warned ahead of time that antsy was standard behavior for him and not to be alarmed.

PUN: Geez.

Agent X: I know, huh?

Stay tuned for ‘Part II’ in a later installment as our source goes into more detail about that night’s dinner specials, Richards’ bizarre uses for non-dairy creamer, and Bill Clinton’s fondness for malt liquor and clams casino.

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