Manhattans

Rob Roys

If the absolute worst-case scenario happens, all good sense is thrown to the tundra, and for some crazy reason Sarah Palin ends up in the White House in two years (and not just scrubbing toilets), will you end up in Saskatchewan?

Rubbing prescribed lotions into the scalp just isn't going to do anything except make your head look like a wedge of iceberg lettuce with blue cheese dressing.

So what should you do?

And you're striking up a really lovely conversation, which ultimately leads to some heavy-duty tonsil hockey?

And you decide to go home together rather than keep making out in public?

Yes, it's time for the imaginary hookup game again.

The one where you put two celebs together at the altar just so one of them can end up with a hilarious name.

So why shouldn't the same system be applied to sex addicts?

As a starry-eyed customer, you would start your meal with some delicious Jane Fondue, either cheese or chocolate.

Assume culpability for once and admit that you'd still be besties with that lovely human if you hadn't subtly back-knifed them with a smile.

Instead, the shuttered club--which was recently home to a sample sale--will now officially become a fashion mini-mall, as described in an article by Sarah Bernard in today's New York magazine.