"and I said well that's one thing we've got."
We walk down the street together. Suddenly, she says that she knows Tony Randall from her work with him in certain feature films. I can hardly believe my senses as we walk down the street and right into the past. The director decides to tag along. And there he is. Tony Randall.
"Hi," she says to Tony Randall, "these are my friends Tony Clifton and Tony Danza." She gestures to the director and to me, respectively.
"Nice Tony Danza shirt, Tony," says Tony Randall to me.
"Hey," I say in my best Danza voice, "you know, publicity." She laughs.
The pace increases until she and the director have left us behind a bit. We trudge through the newly rained upon and swamp-like grass. Finally, I stop and turn to Tony Randall. I tell him that I can't continue on like this, that I love him too much to lie. I introduce myself using my real name. I'm very tempted to say something like "I grew up on you," but I think better of it because I'm in the past and that might make him feel old.
"You know," he begins, "you may under-estimate American audiences, but when it comes to the wheat farmers, you can pass legislation to regulate the amount of mechanically monkey-rich crop they can have in certain areas and patterns. And that's just not right."