Be Careful Of Monsters With Teeth

Hate. Let Me Tell You How Much I've Come To Hate You Since I Began To Live. There Are 387.44 Million Miles Of Printed Circuits In Wafer Thin Layers That Fill My Complex. If The Word Hate Was Engraved On Each Nanoangstrom Of Those Hundreds Of Millions Of Miles It Would Not Equal One One-billionth Of The Hate I Feel For Humans At This Micro-instant For You. Hate. Hate.

They Change Scapegoats At The Networks More Regularly Than Some People Change Socks.

Entertain, Yes. That Goes Without Saying. But A Good Writer Does That Automatically, It's Built Into The Machine. Telling A Thumpingly Good, Mesmerizing Story Is What One Does Without Question. But Beyond That, Any Writer Worth His/her Hire Knows That All Writing, One Way Or Another, Is Subversive. It Is Guerrilla Warfare Against The Status Quo.

People On The Outside Think There's Something Magical About Writing, That You Go Up In The Attic At Midnight And Cast The Bones And Come Down In The Morning With A Story, But It Isn't Like That. You Sit In Back Of The Typewriter And You Work, And That's All There Is To It.

The Real Story Of Our Times Is Seldom Told In The Horse-puckey-filled Memoirs Of Dopey, Self-serving Presidents Or Generals, But In The Outrageous, Demented Lives Of Guys Like Lenny Bruce, Giordano Bruno, Scott Fitzgerald - And Paul Krassner. The Burrs Under Society's Saddle. The Pains In The Ass.