Columns

Since “Playboy” recently published its final print issue, and since I’m reading a biography of publishing magnate Conde Nast on my tablet, I felt it appropriate to share my misgivings about magazines.
During the research phase of this column, I developed severe writer’s cramp while standing in a bookstore frantically scribbling down the names of the mind-numbing array of specialized-yet-overlapping periodicals. (Luckily, one of the magazines was the April issue of “Your Right to Loiter in A Bookstore If You $#@& Well Please Illustrated.”)

The past two weeks have been quite extraordinary and truly unprecedented. The last week, particularly, has been very disruptive to the typical American Way of Life.
The current limitations, restrictions, or recommendations on social interaction and public and private activities created by the spreading of the coronavirus requires each person to make certain personal sacrifices and take certain precautionary steps to avoid the spreading of the virus and the overtaxing of the health care systems throughout America.

I got an email from the ACLU the other day. I have absolutely no idea how I got on their mailing list, since I’ve written column after column criticizing them for their positions on everything from representing accused terrorists to their problem with religion in the public square. I do not carry their card, I do not want their card and if someone offered me their card I would treat it like Abbie Hoffman treated his draft card back in the day.