I spent the last eight days mostly-feverish and unable to sleep, so I passed the fitful time listening to a lot of Steve Allen books on tape in a sullen, half-hearted state of consciousness. The fever passed, but I am reshaped by it, like a landscape after the retreat of a hot glacier (which I suppose would be lava). During this time, I wrote down as many Steve Allen-type one-liners as I could, as if at any moment I might be called upon to audition for the 1950s version of
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