No one reads anymore. I have been deprived my literary right… and I crave an audience. The form of the tragic autobiography is dead… or will be soon, along with most of its authors. Good-bye, written word. So I have chosen this form - radio - to author my life. Not because my life is particularly worthy… but because it is hopefully… comically unworthy. Besides… tragedy isn’t Top 40. Which is just as well.
Jack Nicholson as David in “The King of Marvin Gardens”
When the world is full of care and every headline screams despair, when all is rape, starvation, war and life is vile… then there’s a certain thing I do which I shall pass to you, that’s always guaranteed to make you smile… I go loo-oo-oony as a light-bulb battered bug, simply loo-oo-oony, sometimes foam and chew the rug. Mister life is swell in a padded cell, it’ll chase those blues away… you can trade your gloom for a rubber room, and injections twice a day! Just go loo-oo-oony, like an acid casualty, or a moo-oo-nie, or a preacher on t.v. when the human race wears an anxious face, when the bomb hangs overhead, when your kid turns blue, it won’t worry you, you can smile and nod instead!