Interim memo

 

In this first installment of the column, I solicited letters from readers. This comes solidly under the heading of Yes, of course I’d like an enema with a thermite bomb, Monsieur de Sade. Later, in Installment 7, and every six weeks when the column moved to the Los Angeles Weekly, I would attempt to answer those whose letters were something more than deranged vampire-bat gibbering. You’ll read all that lunacy later. But I drop the notice here, that this is a book, not a periodical, and I truly honestly don’t want any more mail on these columns. Not that I don’t love you all, but the subject matter has been dealt with fully; and Monday morning quarterbacking now that these words have been collected will only chew the meal twice. So, though we’ve decided to let the material stand as it was published (with typos corrected, of course), just forget it when you encounter a solicitation for comment. Let me say it again, just to get through to that one twit out there who never gets the word: Don’t send me letters asking or commenting. I’m dead, the magazines were bombed out of existence, this publisher has gone into the grain and feed business, and you’ll only be wasting your time and money.