Oh, Right. The Results.

I didn't have to kill the kitten. Trust me on this, I would have -- at the slightest (perhaps even Gulf of Tonkinesque) provocation.

Here's how it shakes out:

-- Actor -- confirm this, please -- gets to choose between der pantload's book and getting drunk under the table by, theoretically, me.

-- K., who claims to disdain the book and says his liver can beat up my liver, is apathetic. And probably 100% correct.

So the choice is yours, Actor. Pick your poison. Both will kill you.