Which Reminds Me

You seem to be overestimating my familiarity with the wanton hoes of Louisiana. To be locked into Jimmy's Jukebox is not my idea of something to do with the rest of my life. There might be a Red Stick somewhere but it does not belong to you. I do not know one thing about that other than what can be read in newspapers. Perhaps you have mistaken me for someone who once called me on the telephone. Her name was Alana. She seemed to be well connected to the Swagggering Poppycocks riff-raff of Louisiana. But I only know that probably not even the half has yet been told about that.