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“We need to find more body parts if possible, and we need divers and evidence retrieval specialists. You got those, too?” “Just say the word, and they are yours, like the song goes.” “What song?” “The Tom Jones song. ‘Help Yourself.’ Do you guys remember that one?” “You’re really old, Micah. How old is Tom Jones, anyway? Eighty?” “I don’t know. So what? Is it illegal to remember Tom Jones?” Micah turned his fist into a microphone, held it up to his mouth, and began to sing and gyrate his lower torso in a circular manner, his best imitation of Tom Jones in his prime years. “Now there’s an image that will be impossible to erase from my mind,” Zack said, looking repulsed.” — Mark M. Bello
We need to find more body parts if possible, and we need divers and evidence
retrieval specialists. You got those, too?”
“Just say the word, and they are yours, like the song goes.”
“What song?”
“The Tom Jones song. ‘Help Yourself.’ Do you guys remember that one?”
“You’re really old, Micah. How old is Tom Jones, anyway? Eighty?”
“I don’t know. So what? Is it illegal to remember Tom Jones?” Micah turned his fist into a microphone, held it up to his mouth, and began to sing and gyrate his lower
torso in a circular manner, his best imitation of Tom Jones in his prime years.
“Now there’s an image that will be impossible to erase from my mind,” Zack said, looking repulsed.