I wonder if that's why they called him Dick?

Last night Mr. E did this whole routine with a certain body part where he pretended it was Richard Nixon. It was kind of traumatic, to be honest. Although probably no more traumatic than it was for him to watch me try to work out to Carmen Electra's Robot I Mean Aerobic Striptease. Mr. E pointed out that if my body were 85% plastic then maybe I would too have a certain dead (stoned) look in my eyes. Whatever. I doubt I burned off the calories in a stick of carefree gum.