The proper ending for any story about people it seems to me, since life is now a polymer in which the Earth is wrapped so tightly, should be the same abbreviation, which I now write large because I feel like it, which is this one: ETC.

Maybe they invited me because they know I have a tuxedo

... humanity deserved to die horribly, since it had behaved so cruelly and wastefully on a planet so sweet.

The highest possible form of treason is to say that Americans aren’t loved wherever they go, whatever they do.

What passes for culture in my head is really a bunch of commercials.

In an unmoored life like mine, sleep and hunger and work arrange themselves to suit themselves, without consulting me.

The New York Daily News suggested that my biggest war crime was not killing myself like a gentleman. Presumably Hitler was a gentleman.