I Do Some Eccentric Dancing.

I Think Writer's Block Is Simply The Dread That You Are Going To Write Something Horrible. But As A Writer, I Believe That If You Sit Down At The Keys Long Enough, Sooner Or Later Something Will Come Out.

Contemporary American Children, If They Are Old Enough To Grasp The Concept Of Santa Claus By Thanksgiving, Are Able To See Through It By December 15th.

Ham's Substantial, Ham Is Fat. Ham Is Firm And Sound. Ham's What God Was Getting At When He Made Pigs So Round.

A Dog Will Make Eye Contact. A Cat Will, Too, But A Cat's Eyes Don't Even Look Entirely Warm-blooded To Me, Whereas A Dog's Eyes Look Human Except Less Guarded. A Dog Will Look At You As If To Say, "what Do You Want Me To Do For You? I'll Do Anything For You." Whether A Dog Can In Fact, Do Anything For You If You Don't Have Sheep (i Never Have) Is Another Matter. The Dog Is Willing.

Twiddle-twiddle Away At My Softly Clicky Keyboard For A While, Making Twiddly Adjustments All Along- And Then Print What I Have Twiddled. Glare At The Printout And Snarl And Curse And Scribble Almost Illegibly All Over It With A Ballpoint Pen. Go Back To The Machine And Enter The Scribbles. Repeat This Procedure Until I Hate The Very Meaning Of Every Word I Know.