Marlon Brando Approves of Your Delicious Buffet.

So I have this pressing urge, nay, need to go into a restaurant, enjoy a satisfying meal and then, when I get up to leave, autograph a paper napkin and leave it at the table.

The catch is that I don’t want to autograph it with my own name. Who’d want my autograph? No, I want to give my waiter or waitress something they’d really like, something rare and special.

I’m talking about the autographs of dead celebrities.

Think about it. Wouldn’t it make your day if you were on the receiving end of a paper napkin signed, “The soup was wonderful, and the salad divine. Hugs and Kisses, John Wayne“? I know it’d make mine.

Or how about, “Bitchin’ fries! Love, Audrey Hepburn“?

Think of the possibilities! I could relay joyful messages from Fatty Arbuckle, Adolf Hitler and everyone in between!

I might eventually branch out to insignificant D-listers. Imagine how tickled you’d be to find, “I will take news of your ice cream sundaes to my dark lord and master, who might enjoy one after a night at the bacchanalia sodomizing kittens. Smooches! -Kirk Cameron,” on your table. I believe you’d be so tickled you’d consider suing me for sexual harassment.

I’m off to stock up on Sharpies. Peace out, bitches.