And the years passed quickly, much like that Kentucky Fried Chicken I found at the side of the highway.
Although we occasionally admired the same stalks of corn in a field, it took nigh on a decade before Andrew and I had the honor of working for Mr. Carlin again. Ten years in television is equivalent to 17 lifetimes in any other profession. In that devilish and dastardly decennium, we had tragically transmogrified from a couple of talented, plucky kids to gnarly old men who had to chip the barnacles off their souls each morning before coming into work.
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