The Rabbit Of Easter. He Bring Of

Snowball Just Leads Elves On, Elves And Santas. He Is Playing A Dangerous Game.

I Was First Published In The Newspaper Put Out By School Of The Art Institute Of Chicago, Where I Was A Student. I Wince To Read That Story Nowadays, But I Published It With An Odd Photo I'd Found In A Junk Shop, And At Least I Still Like The Picture. I Had A Few Things In The School Paper, And Then I Got Published In A Small Literary Magazine. I Hoped I Would One Day Get Published In The New Yorker, But I Never Allowed Myself To Actually Believe It. Getting Published Is One Of Those Things That Feels Just As Good As You'd Hoped It Would.

Sometimes People Say, Do You Want A Drink? And I Say, Oh, I'd Like To, But I'm A Tragic Alcoholic. I Always Say Tragic. I'm A Tragic Alcoholic.

When Asked "what Do We Need To Learn This For?" Any High-school Teacher Can Confidently Answer That, Regardless Of The Subject, The Knowledge Will Come In Handy Once The Student Hits Middle Age And Starts Working Crossword Puzzles In Order To Stave Off The Terrible Loneliness.

It's Hard To Love A Place That's Outlawed Smoking But Finds It Perfectly Acceptable To Serve Raw Fish In A Bath Of Chocolate.