Here's what I got. Osama's head. He will be on the phone. That's it for now. I've never been sicker in my life and with such a high fever I fear that my testes are in danger. Anybody interested in forming a fire line and who can bring their own bucket can e-mail me for my address.
Here's how funny I was back when I was twenty, freshly dropped out of college and demonstrating to my mother how she had nothing to worry about, that the New Yorker and the Saturday Evening Post would be pounding on my door with a contract just as soon as they became relevant to the culture again.