Ladies and gentlemen, no more bets. No more bets, ladies and gentlemen. We have now achieved peak West Side:
Your instinct might be to ask: “A set of four lawn chairs brought out into a driveway when there’s a SWAT team surrounding the neighbor’s house and people are running around yelling the whole joint is doused in gasoline? Who does that?”
And my answer is: I know exactly who does that. The same people who stood in our cul de sac during the 1974 tornadoes pointing cameras at the sky. The same people who ran out onto the porch every time a sonic boom from the direction of Dayton rattled the windows so has to have a front row seat when the Russians landed.