I thought I could bang out a column today — a regular column, a column about my readers’ problems and
their freaky fetishes and all those asshole politicians out there. You
know, the usual.
The day my son was born, I managed to slip
out of the maternity ward and write a column; I wrote one the day I was
indicted by the state of Iowa for licking Gary Bauer’s doorknobs. (I
was actually indicted for voter fraud—on a trumped-up charge,
your honor—but Bauer’s knob needs all the attention it can get.)
I’ve written columns on days that I was dumped and on the morning of
9/11. So I figured that I could bang out a column today.
I opened my laptop and started reading your
letters. I love reading your letters—I do. But I couldn’t get
into it. I just don’t have a column in me this week. I’m disappointed
in myself. I write this...