When editors are away, all kinds of shit gets put into play. My consort could not even find a certain section of the paper on its big day because the design was so easily confused with an advertorial. Then, moving over to the dust on the unicorn horn, the Imperial I was in particularly absurd overdrive. And don’t even get me started on the flat-out idiocy of “loose lasagna.” WTF? But the most inexcusable sin was letting Panchito go lick up dried vomit. Reminding sentient readers of the unsavory circumstances in which he found himself the Chimp of restaurant reviewers might not have been the wisest move. No amount of stars could get it right at this point. And somewhere I hear Yogi Berra saying nobody goes there anymore. . . .