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February 5, 2001
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bottle of home brewed whisky are all that seem to matter to me anymore. Not
surprisingly, this now-familiar missive is getting more and more difficult to muster.
The thought of rattling off a weekly diary of my doings makes my stomach burn
and causes a painful rash in a place painful rashes are not welcome. Fortunately,
I have my faithful audience to thank. For I am receiving countless inside e-mails
from the halls of agencies which are surely not intended for public consumption.
But what do I care? I'm just a has-been former adman living drunk and naked in
the jungles of South America. Come get me if you dare.
—The Editor
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