Attention: Feed the Beast on Lincoln has real, honest-to-god, St. Louis style toasted ravioli. Lots of other good food, too (the chicken fingers are reportedly breaded with cheez-it crumbs), but the toasted ravioli is the important part.

You're welcome.

Other important things I discovered at dinner:

Dawn's cat is healthy, but the vet thinks Linus is a little nuts. (the fact that they were menacing the pur wee kitty's urinary tract may have had something to do with that impression.) They recommend kitty prozac, which, apparently, comes in a topical version.

I thought I knew what Dawn meant -- I figured, like hairball treatment, you smear a prozac-infused paste on the kitty's paw or nose, and let the cat's inherent OCD-driven need to lick it clean do the rest. But apparently that's not the case -- it's a cream you rub into the cat's ears. Interesting...

So we started to consider topical presentations for human mental-health meds. The first suggestion we came up with was a prozac-laced shampoo or body wash, but I don't think it would work. For OCD, that idea is golden -- the more of an urge you get to scrub, the more medication your deliver. Bingo. But a frequent symptom of major depression is that you no longer shower, so you'd miss out on the meds when you needed them most. You get depressed, you skip a day showering, you don't get your meds, and the downward spiral ensues. Not good.

For depression, we figured, you'd need something like prozac-infused bedsheets or sweatpants or fuzzy socks. Think about it: You get overwhelmed with depression, you retreat to your bed, and presto, med boost. Brilliant, right?

I expect to get a cut if this is rolled out, ok?

(Obviously, I now need to figure out a topical treatment for delusion.)

The conversation devolved from there. As we retreated to The Grafton for the renowned-in-song-and-story Brownie Sundae, Dawn revealed still more psychological torment. Apparently, Pringles has joke editions -- a joke printed on each chip in the can. These are your typical Bazooka Joe or Laffy Taffy level attempts at humor, so it's mildly diverting at best... except when things go wrong.

For example, Dawn encountered this joke:

Why did the mustache go to the psychiatrist?

What's the punchline? We don't know. The chip was broken, and the punchline had been reduced to a fine powder. And it's been driving us all crazy.

Does anyone know the answer? My best guess is something along the lines of "Because he had a close shave," but that's really stupid. It's turned into some sort of zen koan, a one-hand-clapping sort of question. Maybe there is no answer. Maybe the mustache was ordered by the court to seek psychiactric counseling after it was found with all those taxidermied toupees. Maybe the mustache's mother abandoned it. Maybe, as Dawn suggests, the mustache was just really fucked up.

If you know why the mustache visited the psychiatrist, please let us know. We fear for both the mustache's and our own mental health until we know the answer.

It's possible that the Pringles folks are doing this on purpose -- like the Wilmington Blue Rocks folks, they've pulled something nonsensical out of their collective butts, and they're waiting to see how we react. If so, I salute you, evil Pringles people, but seriously, stop playing with my head.