There Are Lots Of Things That Happen

It Was My Friend Frank, A Writer In San Francisco, Who Finally Set Me Straight. When Asked About My New Look He Put Down His Fork And Stared At Me For A Few Moments. "a Bow Tie Announces To The World You Can No Longer Get An Erection."

My Hands Tend To Be Full Enough Dealing With People Who Hate Me For Who I Am. Concentrate Too Hard On The Millions Of People Who Hate You For What You Are And You're Likely To Turn Into One Of Those Unkempt, Sloppy Dressers Who Sag Beneath The Weight Of The Two Hundred Political Buttons They Wear Pinned To Their Coats And Knapsacks.

I Felt Uncomfortable Calling Myself A Writer Until I Started With 'the New Yorker,' And Then I Was Like, 'okay, Now You Can Call Yourself That.

They're Hungry For Something They Know Nothing About, But We, We Know All Too Well That The Price Of Fame Is The Loss Of Privacy.

But I'm A Humorist. I'm Not A Reporter, I Never Pretended To Be A Reporter.