 Raymond's been telling about the horrible things that happen to other people for a long time now, and getting a huge bang out of it. But tonight the tables are turned, and he finds himself on the receiving end, which seems like poetic justice indeed. I think it might prove interesting to find out how Raymond's much-vaunted sense of humor survives the acid test. So follow me to the home of the squeaking door, the little house of a thousand horrors, the inner sanctum.