[The sun is set. The stars shine in the sky. The night air is tinged with anticipation. And it is time to meet... the Continental.]

Let me freshen your champagna? Caviar? No? Okay. You know, champagna is not champagna unless it comes from the province of Champagne. I learned that in Bartending School. May I take a photograph? Simple photograph? Please? Wonderful! Now... take your top off -- only kidding! Haha! Totally! That is... unless you would like to? No? Okay, it's a joke! Joke from old.

Forgive me, my little frightened, wide-eyed doe. I see I've upset you. Sit, please! How about a glass a champagna? No one can resist the lure of those delicate bubbles, each whispering the same message of love. Did you see my painting? I got it from Target.

Please, taste the champagna! AH, whoops! What happened, what have I done? I have spilled some champagna. All over your boob. How wonderful! They look like two ripe melons... drenched in morning dew! [gets sprayed with mace] Wow! Wowie-wow-wow! Only kidding! I have been sprayed so many times, I have developed immunity to mace. Such is life. More champagna?

[Join us again next week, for another chapter in the life of... The Continental.]