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A R T I C L E S B Y J O H N "Let's be clear on something before I start: I'm not entirely sure what kind of rectum I ate at dinner that night. It's the question I've been asked most often since I admitted eating a rectum at a restaurant in Taiwan: "But what animal did it come from?" I don't know. I'm sorry. Very remiss of me not to have cleared that one up." "I'm a man, and I have needs. There was a woman involved, of course. In these kinds of confessions, there always is. She was blonde, and I'd always believed that she was unattainable, but suddenly she was unattainable no longer. I could own her. I could possess her. She would be mine..." "I walk slowly into the sea and, as the water reaches my waist, I am tempted to weep. It might be nostalgia, but I suspect that it's something more profound. I think it's pain." "You see, authors on tour live in dread of the "no show," those awful events when a line of empty chairs stares back accusingly at the writer, confirming that he or she is, in fact, a total nonentity and barely deserving of space in a remainder bin..." "According to a nice lady at the British Video Association, some 500 new movies were released for rental last year, yet the odds are still stacked against finding more than a handful that any self-respecting DVD player won't spit out like a piece of bad fish...." "...Marty Lederhandler's surreal photo of 10 sidewalk Santas helping an accident victim on a street in uptown New York..." "Men are afraid of everything. They are afraid of commitment, of rejection, of acceptance, of their girlfriends, of their girlfriends' parents, of their girlfriends' friends..." |