Thom Forbes

Ever since Art's stupendous Annual Poker Soiree on Saturday, Dennis has been waking up in a cold sweat, inside-outing the pockets of his PJs and yelling, "Leave me alone, Ichiro, you Money-Sucking Pool Vacuum, leave me alone. I've given you all I've got. You can't have the unnumbered house in the Hamptons a quarter mile up the unmarked path! You can't have the collection of fine Scotches! In the immortal words of Sonia Sotomayor, cease and desist!" 

I've tried to reason with Dennis' conscious mind, telling it that it was not Ichiro who fleeced him but rather his fellow Cronies (To wit: "Thou canst not say we did not do it,"  I said. To which he replied, "Forsooth, I do not understand what the fuck you're talking about.")

In any event, my psychological ministrations ain't working. Obviously a mass, supportive  intervention is required this Wednesday evening at my place. Let's collectively fleece Dennis again, so his subconscious mind can accept the fact that Ichiro the Money-Sucking Pool Vacuum is not out to steal his bicycles.