Batman (1966–1968): Season 1, Episode 14 - Batman Stands Pat - full transcript
Batman, thanks to superior breath control, is able to escape the plaster of Paris in which he was encased. Despite this, the Mad Hatter is still at large. Eventually, Batman and Robin again face off against the Mad Hatter at his criminal lair. Things look bad, but the Dyamic Duo manage to triumph.
So far, we have seen a super
instant mesmerizing device...
a chef's hat snatched...
and there goes the chef.
A hunting hat grabbed...
and its owner, ditto.
And the manager
of a silver shop.
Holy sombrero.
A dish.
A jury box.
Aha, the 13th hat.
The Mad Hatter's plans
for The Caped Crusader.
Another dish...
and another snatch.
A clue? Who knows?
Then Octave Marbot gets it.
But something's fishy.
Bam, bash, crash!
A bucket of instant
hardening plaster.
Is Batman permanently plastered?
Wait, the wildest
is yet to come.
Faster, Marbot, faster.
But the cement must be chipped very carefully
if you want the mold of the Batman's cowl.
Oh, you can take it apart in sections and
glue it back together again to form the mold.
- I will not disfigure my friend, the Batman.
- Oh, Batman, Batman.
He couldn't possibly be
alive inside that plaster shroud.
Hey, boss. That means he won't
be needing that Batmobile no more.
Good thinking. It will make an
excellent getaway car. Go warm it up.
The statue, it's coming alive.
Impossible.
It's diabolical.
Curses. My super mesmerizer's
on the blink. To the Batmobile!
- I'll go after them, after the Mad Hatter.
- No! No, Monsieur Marbot.
It's too dangerous.
- Robin.
- Batman.
Robin.
Start her up, Dicer.
- Are you all right?
- Never better.
I'm used to seeing
you do the impossible...
but getting out of that
plaster tomb was impossible.
Much easier than it seemed,
Robin. I simply held my breath.
Holy frog man.
I think we should help Monsieur
Marbot clean up this mess.
Oh, no, no, no, Batman. You
saved my life, also your own.
That is enough for one day.
Next time you come
to pose for me...
- we start the statue all over again, oui?
- Oui.
The next time I come to pose,
there won't be any such interruptions.
Come on, Robin,
we have work to do.
I find being outmaneuvered by
the Mad Hatter somewhat irritating.
I know what you mean.
There must be some insidious
plan, some overall scheme.
Who'd steal five hats and five people
with them to gain his nefarious end?
And what did he mean when he
said my cowl would be his 13th hat?
Did he say that?
Yes, when I told him I
was onto his masquerade.
I have it. Five
from 13 is eight.
How right you are.
Then he must be planning to snatch
eight more hats and eight more people.
Or already has and
we don't know about it.
Yes, Batman?
Commissioner, have you any more
reports of hat thefts or vanishing people?
Matter of fact, yes. Word is slowly reaching us
that six other fine citizens have disappeared...
in the last few days
along with their headwear.
I'll get back to you.
The police department is on
its toes. Six more kidnappings.
Six plus the five we
know about make 11.
Your cowl is the
13th. That leaves...
One to go. The 12th.
Twelve hats, 12 people.
- But why, Robin? What comes in 12s?
- Doughnuts.
Um, horsepower? Uh, amendments?
Mile limits? Noon? Midnight?
- Oh, that's not quite it. Twelve.
- A dozen?
- Shall we activate the Batcomputer?
- That sounds like a good idea.
Feed it a question about dozens.
"A dozen, a collection of 12
such as a dozen men or women."
Or a dozen men and women.
A jury. Jurors.
Of course, Robin.
That's what he was after, the 12
hats of the jury that convicted him.
And the jurors, Madam Magda, the chef,
the fire chief, they were all on that jury.
- How could I have been so stupid.
- All in all, Batman, you've been pretty busy.
One hat left. The key that will
hoist our opponent on his own petard.
Yes, I realize that.
Yeah, Charlie, hold on a
second, will you please?
Yes, Batman?
We may be onto something.
Can you get me a list of names...
of the 12 jurors in
the Mad Hatter's trial?
Yes, but it may take a
little while. Call you back.
Right.
- I thought I might find you here, sir.
- Yes, Alfred.
It's Mrs. Cooper, sir.
Dinner is almost ready and she wondered
if you and Master Robin were back...
from sighting that fork-tailed
petrel and black-footed albatross, sir.
Tell her we just got back,
but we may be taking off again.
Oh, dear me. However
shall I put it, sir?
- Yes, commissioner?
- Batman, I have the jury list here.
What did you wanna know?
I'd like name of the 12th
juror, last name on the list.
The 12th, huh? Uh...
"Turkey Bowinkle"? Oh, he
owns Bowinkle's Bowladrome.
Have you a record of Bowinkle's hat being
stolen recently or of Bowinkle being stolen?
No, we had no report of that.
Good. I'll call you later.
Alfred, tell Mrs. Cooper that
we called from Slater Slough...
and that we sighted some night flying birds,
and tell her we'll be late for dinner.
Very good, sir.
On second thought, tell
her you'll be late for dinner.
Me, sir?
The 12th juror's name is Bowinkle,
Turkey Bowinkle. He owns a bowling alley.
- A bowler.
- Precisely.
What more fitting headpiece
for the Mad Hatter to steal?
Our job is to get Alfred there
before our cunning adversary does...
and use the 12th hat to
trap him once and for all.
Me, sir?
Our cunning antagonist
knows we're after him, Alfred.
We must do nothing
to excite attention.
I want you to take this
Bat-homing transmitter.
Pay a call on Turkey
Bowinkle at the Bowladrome.
I want you to place it in his hat
before the Mad Hatter snatches it.
That way, we'll be able to trace him
with a homing receiver in the Batmobile.
If I may be allowed, sir. Roger.
- Bowinkle? It's just a family name.
- That's what I thought.
You see, I specialize
in genealogy.
- Ghosts?
- Family trees.
When I ran across your name in the
book, I was fascinated. Turkey Bowinkle.
You doubtless have a
distinguished pedigree.
I got a license to run this
joint if that's what you mean.
Now tell me, perhaps you have some records
of your family lineage in your office?
All I got in my
office is my hat.
Your... Well, maybe that
could tell me something.
It's just an old hat.
You never can tell, Mr. Bowinkle, what may
be useful in tracing a person's descent.
Descent? It ain't no descent
to run a bowling alley.
I mean, family descent...
the natural order of succession from
one's ancestors or even older forms.
Monkeys? Sorry, buddy.
Turkey ain't no handle handed down
from my grandpa. It's a nickname.
And in the lingo of 10
pins, it means three strikes.
And Bowinkle means Bowinkle.
Nevertheless, I would like
to take a look at that hat.
Perhaps the head size
might prove informative.
Seven and five-eighths. That
put an extra limb on the family elm?
That's Bowinkle at the
counter with the old guy.
Butter him up, find out where the
hat is, signal me, keep him occupied.
Whatever you say, Jervis.
- Yes, ma'am.
- Mr. Bowinkle, I'm from Male-Mode.
- Yeah?
- It's a magazine devoted to men's fashion.
Oh.
I'm sure you'll be glad to know
you're this week's prize winner...
the best-hatted
man in Gotham City.
Hey, what is this? That old bowler
never attracted so much attention before.
- And this man here...
- I really must be going.
It's been pleasant
talking to you.
Perhaps we can go into your
bloodline some other time. Miss?
- Your bloodline? Ew, that sounds icky.
- Just some kook.
Anyway, Mr. Bowinkle, I hoped you'd
extend me the courtesy of an interview.
Sure. Shoot.
Where is the prize-winning
little headpiece right now?
Right now I figure it's
upstairs on my desk waiting...
not knowing it's headed
for fame and fortune.
Here you are.
Thank you.
Why me, lady?
There must be lots of guys in Gotham City
with fancier bonnets than that old bowler.
Well, how Male-Mode selects its
weekly winner is, of course, our secret.
But I suspect your virile charm
had something to do with it.
Yeah?
Well, maybe that virile charm
would like to buy you something.
What would you
like? On the house.
Who let you out of the jug, Tetsch,
and what are you doing with my hat?
Thanks, Lisa. Get lost.
Just repaying old
debts, Mr. Bowinkle.
It took a unanimous vote of
that jury to send me up the river.
Yeah, well, I'm casting
another ballot right now.
Do you usually carry a homing
Bat-transmitter in your bowler, Mr. Bowinkle?
- I don't know how that thing got in there.
- I think I do...
and I think Batman will end
up in my hat factory after all.
What's Batman got to do with it?
So the Mad Hatter
gets his 12th juror.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Imagine shearing
Batman like a rabbit...
or stretching him
into any form I wish...
or shrinking him and sizing him.
Why, I'll make him
into a sun bonnet...
or a 10-gallon
hat or a fez. A fez.
Yes, a fez. I'll dye him red.
I'll buy myself a camel and
go riding off into the desert...
wearing a tribal chieftain's flowing
robes and Batman on my head.
- He's flipped his lid.
- What are you mumbling about, Cappy?
My idle flights of fancy,
my little daydreams?
They're nothing more than that,
believe me. I'm a very practical man.
I already have my 12
jurors' hats and my 12 jurors.
All I need now is
Batman's cowl...
and The Caped Crusader out of
the way and my job will be complete.
Yeah. But when do we eat?
When I'm paid my
fabulous ransom.
Imaginez-vous...
owning the Gastonian Institution's priceless
collection of presidential headgear.
Ooh!
I think it's high time that the rightful
owners of those hats were wearing them.
Yeah, but the
real jury's still out.
Turkey's bowler
can't be far from here.
The hideout must be in this old
warehouse. Call Commissioner Gordon.
Tell him we found
the Mad Hatter's lair.
It's worked. They found
us, just like I planned.
- It's a long way up.
- You're right.
Stand clear.
They're climbing up the
wall. Places, everyone.
What a pleasant
surprise awaits them.
Gosh, Batman. You'd
think we were human flies.
- It's all in the game, Robin.
- That's sure one way of looking at it.
I'm extremely sorry
about all this, citizens.
We meet again, Dynamic
Duo, but I fear for the last time.
Your little game of
hide and seek is over.
- Very clever, Mr. Tetsch.
- Oh, you were the clever one.
I might not have been able
to lure you here without your...
homing Bat-transmitter
in Mr. Bowinkle's hat.
Holy bowler.
And now, Caped Crusader, you will
take off your cowl and hand it over.
Then you will sit for your
photograph for all the world to see.
After that, I will take you on a personally
conducted tour of my hat factory.
I'll have to be dead
before you get my cowl.
Then we'll start
with the hat factory.
Straight ahead, please.
Turn on the machinery, Dicer.
You may find that it smarts
a bit to be shorn, Batman.
Until you lose
consciousness, of course.
Sorry, I'm late Jervis,
but I needed a pedicure.
The girl from Magda's.
Up to her pretty neck in evil.
You're just in time.
Batman and Robin are
about to undergo a treatment...
I usually reserve for rabbits,
muskrats and beavers.
Jervis, how droll. Do get on with it, though.
Then perhaps you can take me for a bite to eat.
You heard the lady.
Would you like to walk into the
factory under your own power...
or would you like a
shot or two to help?
Put him on the conveyor belt.
Batman, help!
I suppose he's passed
the acid test, Robin.
That'll keep him out
of mischief for a while.
- And what plans do you have for me, Batman?
- That's up to the courts to decide, young lady.
In the meantime, help us
find those missing jurors.
Whatever you say. I'll
show you where they are.
- I hope we're not too late, Batman.
- But we had a devil of a time finding this place.
Oh, that's all right, gentlemen.
I'm happy to report that the treacherous
schemes of the Mad Hatter have been...
knocked completely
into a cocked hat.
Eighty-five dollars. Oh, Bruce, it's
sweet of you to get me a birthday present.
- But a hat's a hat.
- No, Mrs. Cooper, a hat is not a hat.
A hat is a memory, tea at
Claridge's, a gondola in Venice.
A hat is romance, the first time he
smiled at you, the night he kissed you.
A hat is an experience.
Well, when you put it that
way, I guess $85 isn't too much.
I thought you'd agree.
It was so nice of you to bring
Mrs. Cooper in, Mr. Wayne.
But I'm just sorry, I'm a
little shorthanded today.
- My favorite sale girl disappointed me bitterly.
- Oh?
She was mixed up with
that miserable Jervis Tetsch.
To put your mind at ease, Madam Magda,
I had lunch with the city attorney today.
He tells me that the Mad
Hatter won't bother you anymore.
He and his gang are safely behind bars and
the judge should give them a stiff sentence.
- Would you put that on my bill, please?
- Okay.
Thank you, Madam Magda.
- What's wrong, Bruce?
- It's funny.
When I came in here, I could
swear I was wearing a hat.
instant mesmerizing device...
a chef's hat snatched...
and there goes the chef.
A hunting hat grabbed...
and its owner, ditto.
And the manager
of a silver shop.
Holy sombrero.
A dish.
A jury box.
Aha, the 13th hat.
The Mad Hatter's plans
for The Caped Crusader.
Another dish...
and another snatch.
A clue? Who knows?
Then Octave Marbot gets it.
But something's fishy.
Bam, bash, crash!
A bucket of instant
hardening plaster.
Is Batman permanently plastered?
Wait, the wildest
is yet to come.
Faster, Marbot, faster.
But the cement must be chipped very carefully
if you want the mold of the Batman's cowl.
Oh, you can take it apart in sections and
glue it back together again to form the mold.
- I will not disfigure my friend, the Batman.
- Oh, Batman, Batman.
He couldn't possibly be
alive inside that plaster shroud.
Hey, boss. That means he won't
be needing that Batmobile no more.
Good thinking. It will make an
excellent getaway car. Go warm it up.
The statue, it's coming alive.
Impossible.
It's diabolical.
Curses. My super mesmerizer's
on the blink. To the Batmobile!
- I'll go after them, after the Mad Hatter.
- No! No, Monsieur Marbot.
It's too dangerous.
- Robin.
- Batman.
Robin.
Start her up, Dicer.
- Are you all right?
- Never better.
I'm used to seeing
you do the impossible...
but getting out of that
plaster tomb was impossible.
Much easier than it seemed,
Robin. I simply held my breath.
Holy frog man.
I think we should help Monsieur
Marbot clean up this mess.
Oh, no, no, no, Batman. You
saved my life, also your own.
That is enough for one day.
Next time you come
to pose for me...
- we start the statue all over again, oui?
- Oui.
The next time I come to pose,
there won't be any such interruptions.
Come on, Robin,
we have work to do.
I find being outmaneuvered by
the Mad Hatter somewhat irritating.
I know what you mean.
There must be some insidious
plan, some overall scheme.
Who'd steal five hats and five people
with them to gain his nefarious end?
And what did he mean when he
said my cowl would be his 13th hat?
Did he say that?
Yes, when I told him I
was onto his masquerade.
I have it. Five
from 13 is eight.
How right you are.
Then he must be planning to snatch
eight more hats and eight more people.
Or already has and
we don't know about it.
Yes, Batman?
Commissioner, have you any more
reports of hat thefts or vanishing people?
Matter of fact, yes. Word is slowly reaching us
that six other fine citizens have disappeared...
in the last few days
along with their headwear.
I'll get back to you.
The police department is on
its toes. Six more kidnappings.
Six plus the five we
know about make 11.
Your cowl is the
13th. That leaves...
One to go. The 12th.
Twelve hats, 12 people.
- But why, Robin? What comes in 12s?
- Doughnuts.
Um, horsepower? Uh, amendments?
Mile limits? Noon? Midnight?
- Oh, that's not quite it. Twelve.
- A dozen?
- Shall we activate the Batcomputer?
- That sounds like a good idea.
Feed it a question about dozens.
"A dozen, a collection of 12
such as a dozen men or women."
Or a dozen men and women.
A jury. Jurors.
Of course, Robin.
That's what he was after, the 12
hats of the jury that convicted him.
And the jurors, Madam Magda, the chef,
the fire chief, they were all on that jury.
- How could I have been so stupid.
- All in all, Batman, you've been pretty busy.
One hat left. The key that will
hoist our opponent on his own petard.
Yes, I realize that.
Yeah, Charlie, hold on a
second, will you please?
Yes, Batman?
We may be onto something.
Can you get me a list of names...
of the 12 jurors in
the Mad Hatter's trial?
Yes, but it may take a
little while. Call you back.
Right.
- I thought I might find you here, sir.
- Yes, Alfred.
It's Mrs. Cooper, sir.
Dinner is almost ready and she wondered
if you and Master Robin were back...
from sighting that fork-tailed
petrel and black-footed albatross, sir.
Tell her we just got back,
but we may be taking off again.
Oh, dear me. However
shall I put it, sir?
- Yes, commissioner?
- Batman, I have the jury list here.
What did you wanna know?
I'd like name of the 12th
juror, last name on the list.
The 12th, huh? Uh...
"Turkey Bowinkle"? Oh, he
owns Bowinkle's Bowladrome.
Have you a record of Bowinkle's hat being
stolen recently or of Bowinkle being stolen?
No, we had no report of that.
Good. I'll call you later.
Alfred, tell Mrs. Cooper that
we called from Slater Slough...
and that we sighted some night flying birds,
and tell her we'll be late for dinner.
Very good, sir.
On second thought, tell
her you'll be late for dinner.
Me, sir?
The 12th juror's name is Bowinkle,
Turkey Bowinkle. He owns a bowling alley.
- A bowler.
- Precisely.
What more fitting headpiece
for the Mad Hatter to steal?
Our job is to get Alfred there
before our cunning adversary does...
and use the 12th hat to
trap him once and for all.
Me, sir?
Our cunning antagonist
knows we're after him, Alfred.
We must do nothing
to excite attention.
I want you to take this
Bat-homing transmitter.
Pay a call on Turkey
Bowinkle at the Bowladrome.
I want you to place it in his hat
before the Mad Hatter snatches it.
That way, we'll be able to trace him
with a homing receiver in the Batmobile.
If I may be allowed, sir. Roger.
- Bowinkle? It's just a family name.
- That's what I thought.
You see, I specialize
in genealogy.
- Ghosts?
- Family trees.
When I ran across your name in the
book, I was fascinated. Turkey Bowinkle.
You doubtless have a
distinguished pedigree.
I got a license to run this
joint if that's what you mean.
Now tell me, perhaps you have some records
of your family lineage in your office?
All I got in my
office is my hat.
Your... Well, maybe that
could tell me something.
It's just an old hat.
You never can tell, Mr. Bowinkle, what may
be useful in tracing a person's descent.
Descent? It ain't no descent
to run a bowling alley.
I mean, family descent...
the natural order of succession from
one's ancestors or even older forms.
Monkeys? Sorry, buddy.
Turkey ain't no handle handed down
from my grandpa. It's a nickname.
And in the lingo of 10
pins, it means three strikes.
And Bowinkle means Bowinkle.
Nevertheless, I would like
to take a look at that hat.
Perhaps the head size
might prove informative.
Seven and five-eighths. That
put an extra limb on the family elm?
That's Bowinkle at the
counter with the old guy.
Butter him up, find out where the
hat is, signal me, keep him occupied.
Whatever you say, Jervis.
- Yes, ma'am.
- Mr. Bowinkle, I'm from Male-Mode.
- Yeah?
- It's a magazine devoted to men's fashion.
Oh.
I'm sure you'll be glad to know
you're this week's prize winner...
the best-hatted
man in Gotham City.
Hey, what is this? That old bowler
never attracted so much attention before.
- And this man here...
- I really must be going.
It's been pleasant
talking to you.
Perhaps we can go into your
bloodline some other time. Miss?
- Your bloodline? Ew, that sounds icky.
- Just some kook.
Anyway, Mr. Bowinkle, I hoped you'd
extend me the courtesy of an interview.
Sure. Shoot.
Where is the prize-winning
little headpiece right now?
Right now I figure it's
upstairs on my desk waiting...
not knowing it's headed
for fame and fortune.
Here you are.
Thank you.
Why me, lady?
There must be lots of guys in Gotham City
with fancier bonnets than that old bowler.
Well, how Male-Mode selects its
weekly winner is, of course, our secret.
But I suspect your virile charm
had something to do with it.
Yeah?
Well, maybe that virile charm
would like to buy you something.
What would you
like? On the house.
Who let you out of the jug, Tetsch,
and what are you doing with my hat?
Thanks, Lisa. Get lost.
Just repaying old
debts, Mr. Bowinkle.
It took a unanimous vote of
that jury to send me up the river.
Yeah, well, I'm casting
another ballot right now.
Do you usually carry a homing
Bat-transmitter in your bowler, Mr. Bowinkle?
- I don't know how that thing got in there.
- I think I do...
and I think Batman will end
up in my hat factory after all.
What's Batman got to do with it?
So the Mad Hatter
gets his 12th juror.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
Imagine shearing
Batman like a rabbit...
or stretching him
into any form I wish...
or shrinking him and sizing him.
Why, I'll make him
into a sun bonnet...
or a 10-gallon
hat or a fez. A fez.
Yes, a fez. I'll dye him red.
I'll buy myself a camel and
go riding off into the desert...
wearing a tribal chieftain's flowing
robes and Batman on my head.
- He's flipped his lid.
- What are you mumbling about, Cappy?
My idle flights of fancy,
my little daydreams?
They're nothing more than that,
believe me. I'm a very practical man.
I already have my 12
jurors' hats and my 12 jurors.
All I need now is
Batman's cowl...
and The Caped Crusader out of
the way and my job will be complete.
Yeah. But when do we eat?
When I'm paid my
fabulous ransom.
Imaginez-vous...
owning the Gastonian Institution's priceless
collection of presidential headgear.
Ooh!
I think it's high time that the rightful
owners of those hats were wearing them.
Yeah, but the
real jury's still out.
Turkey's bowler
can't be far from here.
The hideout must be in this old
warehouse. Call Commissioner Gordon.
Tell him we found
the Mad Hatter's lair.
It's worked. They found
us, just like I planned.
- It's a long way up.
- You're right.
Stand clear.
They're climbing up the
wall. Places, everyone.
What a pleasant
surprise awaits them.
Gosh, Batman. You'd
think we were human flies.
- It's all in the game, Robin.
- That's sure one way of looking at it.
I'm extremely sorry
about all this, citizens.
We meet again, Dynamic
Duo, but I fear for the last time.
Your little game of
hide and seek is over.
- Very clever, Mr. Tetsch.
- Oh, you were the clever one.
I might not have been able
to lure you here without your...
homing Bat-transmitter
in Mr. Bowinkle's hat.
Holy bowler.
And now, Caped Crusader, you will
take off your cowl and hand it over.
Then you will sit for your
photograph for all the world to see.
After that, I will take you on a personally
conducted tour of my hat factory.
I'll have to be dead
before you get my cowl.
Then we'll start
with the hat factory.
Straight ahead, please.
Turn on the machinery, Dicer.
You may find that it smarts
a bit to be shorn, Batman.
Until you lose
consciousness, of course.
Sorry, I'm late Jervis,
but I needed a pedicure.
The girl from Magda's.
Up to her pretty neck in evil.
You're just in time.
Batman and Robin are
about to undergo a treatment...
I usually reserve for rabbits,
muskrats and beavers.
Jervis, how droll. Do get on with it, though.
Then perhaps you can take me for a bite to eat.
You heard the lady.
Would you like to walk into the
factory under your own power...
or would you like a
shot or two to help?
Put him on the conveyor belt.
Batman, help!
I suppose he's passed
the acid test, Robin.
That'll keep him out
of mischief for a while.
- And what plans do you have for me, Batman?
- That's up to the courts to decide, young lady.
In the meantime, help us
find those missing jurors.
Whatever you say. I'll
show you where they are.
- I hope we're not too late, Batman.
- But we had a devil of a time finding this place.
Oh, that's all right, gentlemen.
I'm happy to report that the treacherous
schemes of the Mad Hatter have been...
knocked completely
into a cocked hat.
Eighty-five dollars. Oh, Bruce, it's
sweet of you to get me a birthday present.
- But a hat's a hat.
- No, Mrs. Cooper, a hat is not a hat.
A hat is a memory, tea at
Claridge's, a gondola in Venice.
A hat is romance, the first time he
smiled at you, the night he kissed you.
A hat is an experience.
Well, when you put it that
way, I guess $85 isn't too much.
I thought you'd agree.
It was so nice of you to bring
Mrs. Cooper in, Mr. Wayne.
But I'm just sorry, I'm a
little shorthanded today.
- My favorite sale girl disappointed me bitterly.
- Oh?
She was mixed up with
that miserable Jervis Tetsch.
To put your mind at ease, Madam Magda,
I had lunch with the city attorney today.
He tells me that the Mad
Hatter won't bother you anymore.
He and his gang are safely behind bars and
the judge should give them a stiff sentence.
- Would you put that on my bill, please?
- Okay.
Thank you, Madam Magda.
- What's wrong, Bruce?
- It's funny.
When I came in here, I could
swear I was wearing a hat.