Poor Sally Moyer, all alone, in the Boom Boom Room. No one wants to talk to you, with your greasy hair and poor choices in life. Even some of your relatives won't say your name. Not even your ex-lover/co-conspirator, Kevin Clinesmith will look at you. Pathetic. I hope you don't catch the red-scarf flue. I hear it's hard to recover from, once you stop kicking. Who's "retarded now", scumbag?