No, I failed long ago.

He came into the main building in Farringon Road, Clerkenwell, each afternoon at four pm, read through the letters to be published the next morning, began identifying his possible themes, and went to the editorial conference at five pm. Then he scowled, stuck in his ear plugs—defiantly not an office-dweller, he did not like noise—scrawled sketches across complete pages of his notebook, and produced a set of nine little boxes containing drafts of his ideas. The duty editor chose one, the letters editor another, and David polished off the finished product. By six-thirty he was gone.

Ginny, a Siberian husky-schnauzer mix, was eulogized last week at the Westchester Cat Show. Evidently, the beast was renowned for discovering and saving pusses in peril.

I’m sorry, but such awards are just plain wrong. Although I can appreciate that some dogs may be somewhat less repulsive than others, there really is a divide between felines and canines that should be observed, if only to avoid dog oil.

Yes, I suppose it’s true that Ginny pawed through shards of glass to find an injured cat, but that doesn’t alter the fact that a dog is a dog, and that a dog is not a cat. Perhaps someone should construct a Hall of Fame for Tolerable Dogs; I’m sure it wouldn’t cost that much to build such an unimposing structure.

Of course, promptness is a two-edged sword. Earlier this afternoon I became extremely anxious when I thought Jan and I wouldn’t be able to make it to the airport on time for our flight. Jan noticed my agitation, and decided to reassure me that I needn’t worry about being precisely on time.

“One of the nice things about having my own jet is that I never need to worry about missing my flight,” she explained.

And now that Jan and I are twelve kilometers above the Sierra quaffing some very good wine in her camper van of the sky, my punctuality anxiety has vanished completely.

Like millions of other people, Bruce chose a large turkey for the centerpiece of the dining room table. Unlike most other turkeys [typo?], Bruce prepared a mechanical, headless turkey, complete with feathers. He installed some sort of pump in the faux bird that sent artificial blood—complete with clots—pulsing slowly out the neck. The viscous liquid dribbled down the bird onto a huge china platter, from where it was recycled to be pumped out again.

Everything went smoothly until the middle of dinner, when the turkey started to make a loud, grating noise, then started to shudder. A few seconds later, the bird started to spew smelly, red globs around the table; Marcia took a direct hit on the lips.

“Christ,” she spat, “this is real blood!”

“I guess I miscalculated the coagulation factor,” Bruce responded sheepishly.

Nevertheless, we all enjoyed a bloody good time.

Police said between sixteen and eighteen containers of Tempera paint were dumped in Heusner School, along with several jars of Glitter Glue and various other art supplies. Crayons were dumped on the floor and broken, and a container of body lotion was poured onto a desk. Items were pulled from desk drawers and scattered around the room. Deputy Salina Chief Barry Plunkett said school officials have yet to estimate cleanup costs.