Reading those turgid philosophers here in these remote stone buildings may not get you a job, but if those books have forced you to ask yourself questions about what makes life truthful, purposeful, meaningful, and redeeming.
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.
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.
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.
[Calvin, who has the chicken pox, calls Susie on the telephone.] Susie: Hello? Calvin: Hi, Susie! It’s me, Calvin! I was wondering if you’d like to come over and play. Susie: Why, sure! Boy,
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