I appreciate your feedback on last week’s column about the biker gang we call irregular verbs.
If I had time, I’d individually thank all of you who called and emailed me — but zero is a much bigger number than you’d think.
Anyway, you know you’re the one I appreciate most. The rest are chaff. Oh. I didn’t mean y’all, of course. Y’all are good kitchen folk. I meant the rest of the chaff. The rubes. The rubes that aren’t you, obviously. Those numbskulls sitting over there. The non-you numbskulls, natch.
Nice hat, by the way.
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Now on to the column proper.
My editor’s on vacation!
Some other Broadway musical with a slammer at the end!
I can do what I want! And that includes reaching over! And ripping off! Slammers from Mark Ballard’s column! He has plenty!
Here’s some more!!!!!!!!!!!!
In the newspaper biz we call exclamation points “slammers” — did you know that?
No? Then I’d appreciate it if you’d stop reading my column.
Bye-bye. It been nice not knowing you. Sure, it’s only been a few seconds, but it’s been wonderful.
So, where was I?
Oh, yeah ...
I’m going to do the two things I love, but my editor has forbidden:
1. Say I’m going to do two things but do only one thing.
2. Write a two-part column.
I don’t know what she has against my two-parters. She jams my column into a tiny toolbox in the industrial park section of The Telegraph where I can barely breathe. And how can I complain if I can’t breathe? And what’s the point of breathing if I can’t complain?
Then she says I can’t knock down the metaphoric wall between this week and next week to create a metafabulous loft of a column.
But as Spinoza wrote in “Principia Philosophiae Cartesianae”: I’m a clever teapot, yes it’s true. Here’s an example of what I can do.
Great stuff my editor cut out of my columns that remained great despite what she calls editing and I call the subversion of the natural order.