Mix together a dead mob lawyer, a pissed-off porpoise, and a mayor who doesn't know what city he works for; blend in a talking corpse, a fortune in buried gold and a washing machine that would sooner kill you than clean your clothes; now add a shot of illegal booze and a Nobel Prize. What do you get? Red Herring’s. (If the Mad Hatter ever got engaged he would have his bachelor party here. And he’d be the normal one.)