At the book signing, I found myself pitted between two animals who together had been to 19 different book signings over the last 2 months. The funny thing about it was that they hadn't even read over 80% of what they purchased, they just wanted the autograph.

On my left was Gina-Michele. She is 34, a Scorpio, loves Lewis Black, is dating someone 10 years younger who is in pharmaceuticals, is looking for work, never wants children and draws on her eyebrows (a little too high, I might add). Ellie on my right, like Golden Girls' Blanche Devereaux, has locked in her age at 39--clearly she is at least an eon or two older; her daughter loves Lewis Black, she is divorced and is subletting a room from a 52 year-old man who compulsively puts aloe on his face and talks trash on Oprah (something Ellie doesn't appreciate too much).

The last fifteen minutes before Lewis came out was a haze of over-excitement and obsessive re-application of makeup. Cameras were being whipped out of purses. Then, he entered the room. Both the women grabbed my legs in excitement.

Lewis Black was awesome. He didn't actually read from the book, just discussed his career. The man's not as angry as he seems on TV, but I think anyone that is a good judge of character can see that anyway (he even choked up a bit when talking about Mitch Hedberg).

After Mr. Black was done talking, he sat down at the table three feet away from me and the line formed. While waiting my turn, I texted Kevin via my cell, typing "I'm finally bumping into Lewis Black." As I pressed "send", I realized if this weren't true, Kevin wouldn't look like the idiot-- I would. Thus, I became nervous. I didn't want to look like I escaped some mental ward in front of Lewis Black! But I had to ask that question.

"Mr. Black, this may sound ridiculous, but were you ever in a drive-by in Kansas City?"

"Oh yes," he said.

He then proceeded to go into the details of how he was wasted in the back of the club and saw all of this strange commotion going on.

"So you had to hit the floor?"

"Yeah!"

I explained how I was trying to settle a bet. Then we shook hands.

Kevin was telling the goddamn truth. I owe him a drink or five.

Libby is a New York-based writer who can be seen imbibing delight through constant absurdity.