the Third Rick

No one in this jazz club seems to care that I'm not wearing pants. Or that I'm straddling a foamy-scalped moose. Or that my mouth is full of eel meat. Or that my left ear is bleeding. No one seems to notice that my genitals are scented with fruit extracts. Or that my booties prominently feature Nickelodeon's Rugrats. Or that my top half is clad in a shiny tuxedo. No one bats an eyelash at me, Adolf Hitler, having my evening constitutional in this stupid jazz club.