Doris Day is totally getting me hot
Oh, Doris. You sexy, sexy thing. You might be 80, but you've still got it, kid. You've got what it takes to get an editorial writer HOT, baby. Your pretty freckles, your tight black dress, your stretchy nylons, your humps, your lovely lady lumps. MMM-mmm. I'm going to have to read some Rabbit Angstrom just to calm my jangled nerves. What do you say, Doris, to some pillow talk, just me'n'you? C'mere, baby, and lay one on me. Give me some of that guileless, authentic, post-war mojo, Doris. These cynics around this state are bumming me out but girl, your triumph over adversity and squeals of exasperation are SMOKIN' hot, kid. Here, I'm gonna sing you a song:

When I was just a little boy in Pikeville
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty? will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here's what my sweetheart said.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Doris! *smooch!*