“I don’t know, Blanche. That roofing bill really set us back.”

“I know, George, but we were able to recycle the shingles for enough cash to buy tickets for Sting, Don Henley and No Doubt.”

“Yeah, those were good concerts, weren’t they?”

“Right, and I’m sure if we look hard enough, we’ll find enough items we can turn in for cash so that we can afford all the shows coming up this fall.”

“You mean, like Paul Simon and Blues Traveler?”

“Or maybe even Steve Howe. Let’s see, what about the bedrooms?”

“The workers are coming out tomorrow to tear up the carpeting.”

“I hear carpet fragments are the next big thing in home recycling. That should give us enough for Vanilla Ice. What about The Tragically Hip, Juliana Hatfield and Peter Case? Have you looked at the car?”

“I sold the brakes, seatbelts and airbags just this morning.”

“I don’t know, honey. Are you sure we won’t need those items?”

“Nah. Everybody knows those are just dealer-added features to jack up the price. Besides, the only true safety device you really need is a horn to tell people to get out of the way.”

“Right. Then it looks as if we’re set. The guy came for the sink this morning. Add that to the copper wiring from the phone and it looks like Neil Young is a go. However, there is one thing that worries me.”

“What’s that, Blanche?”

“We gutted the bathroom and sold all the pipes to the scrap yard so we could buy good seats for Barbra Streisand.”


“Pretty soon, we’ll be all out of house. What will we do?”

“Simple, I’ll just start another dot-com company. We’ll get venture capitol, do another IPO, and we’ll be rollin’ in cash.”

“Another dot-com? So soon? Won’t people remember?”

“Heck no, this is America. After all, do you remember the name of the guy who won that contest, Survivor?”


“No, I mean his last name.”


“See what I mean?”