Twenty one people on the subway this morning were reading something written by Dan Brown. This both amazes and worries me on so many levels. What happened to the staples of intra-city travel; Dick Francis, Margaret Atwood and for the truly pretentious, De Beauvoir or Plath?
On morning radio, someone won ten thousand bucks - and was then told
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Apparently, to win fame, fortune and dubious popularity for so-called 'musical talent', all I have to do is lay a governor. I'm thinking I'll stick to dead people; it's less gross
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