Their House Had Real Hardcover

I Won't Put In A Load Of Laundry, Because The Machine Is Too Loud And Would Drown Out Other, More Significant Noises - Namely, The Shuffling Footsteps Of The Living Dead.

Like Anyone Nostalgic For A Time He Didn't Live Through, I Chose To Weed Out The Little Inconveniences: Polio, Say, Or The Thought Of Eating Stewed Squirrel. The World Was Simply Grander Back Then, Somehow More Civilized, And Nicer To Look At.

Watching Him Was Like Opening The Door To A Siniging Telegram; You Know It's Supposed To Be Entertaining, But You Can't Get Beyond The Sad Fact That This Person Actually Thinks He Bringing Some Joy Into Your Life. Somewhere He Had A Mother Who Sifted Through A Shoe Box Of Mimeographed Playbills, Pouring Herself Another Drink And Wondering When Her Son Would Come To His Senses And Swallow Some Drain Cleaner.

Anyone Who Watches Even The Slightest Amount Of Tv Is Familiar With The Scene: An Agent Knocks On The Door Of Some Seemingly Ordinary Home Or Office. The Door Opens, And The Person Holding The Knob Is Asked To Identify Himself. The Agent Then Says, "i'm Going To Ask You To Come With Me.

I Find It Ridiculous To Assign A Gender To An Inanimate Object Incapable Of Disrobing And Making An Occasional Fool Of Itself.