Isn’t it sad how some people’s grip on their lives is so precarious that they’ll embrace any preposterous delusion rather than face an occasional bleak truth?
Calvin: Do you believe in the Devil? You know, a supreme evil being dedicated to the temptation, corruption, and destruction of man? Hobbes: I’m not sure man needs the help.
Calvin: Dad where do babies come from? Dad: Well Calvin, you simply go to Sears, buy the kit and follow the assembly instructions. Calvin: I came from Sears? Dad: No you were a blue-light special at K-Mart – almost as good and a lot cheaper!
I can never enjoy Sundays, because in the back of my mind I always know I’ve got to go to school the next day. It’s like trying to enjoy your last meal before the execution.
The whole idea of hobknobbing and schmoozing and the concept of an “elite” class of celebrities better than the common people has always made my stomach turn.
Calvin: Look, a dead bird! Hobbes: It must’ve hit a window. Calvin: Isn’t it beautiful? It’s so delicate. Sighhh… once it’s too late, you appreciate what a miracle life is.
There are no restrictions of taste, approach, or subject matter. The gatekeepers are gone, so the prospect for new and different voices is exciting. Or at least it will be if anyone reads them.
History is the fiction we invent to persuade ourselves that events are knowable and that life has order and direction. That’s why events are always reinterpreted when values change.
Now if a joke is in bad taste or it’s not funny, okay, that’s awhole different thing, but how you craft a joke is really what the writer’s job is, and I don’t think that technique should be subject to any editorial constraints.
