I am at the moment writing a lengthy indictment against our century. When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip.

It smells terrible in here.'

Well, what do you expect? The human body, when confined, produces certain odors which we tend to forget in this age of deodorants and other perversions. Actually, I find the atmosphere of this room rather comforting. Schiller needed the scent of apples rotting in his desk in order to write. I, too, have my needs. You may remember that Mark Twain preferred to lie supinely in bed while composing those rather dated and boring efforts which contemporary scholars try to prove meaningful. Veneration of Mark Twain is one of the roots of our current intellectual stalemate.

Melted cheese is a culinary veil...a foxhole where mediocrity can hide.

I just don't see the point of not eating cheese. I mean, if God didn't want us to eat cheese, would he have let man invent it?

Apparently I lack some particular perversion which today's employer is seeking.

When my brain begins to reel from my literary labors, I make an occasional cheese dip