I should title this "Whither Death & Taxes," as that is the theme this week, but since I won't be doing it, I am concentrating on my absence. As you should. For what is my absence but the lack of my presence? Surely I woke up this morning expecting to be there, & you should be expecting me to wake up next to you every morning. Wait. What? I mean, you should expect that I am on the radio when I am supposed to be on the radio (you know, like we're supposed to be happy), & when I am not there, you should be thinking, "But where is Gary? Could he be (as we might assume he be) in a mess o'trouble? For he ain't got a lick o'sense! But maybe he'll find a bit o'luck, & we'll see him when we see him." You should be thinking that, by the way, in a bad Southern accent. If you're thinking it in a good Southern accent, you're missing the point.
Instead of preparing for my show in (what is it now?) nine days - & this show will change everything you think about dope dealers & greeting cards, I promise you - I have been watching the Larry Sanders show. If only Self Help Radio could be the Larry Sanders Show. This is my fictional invitation to a fictional talk show host played a person who has the beautifulest of all names, Gary, but spells it with two rs as if to say he's better than those Garys who spell with only one r. & he is. But he's the only one. Take that Garry Fucking Marshall! I didn't need you to finance my movie anyway.
So the show won't have me this week, but you will have the show. Except the show won't be hosted by me, so, although I am certain Art Baker will do a fabulous job, it won't quite be the show that I do. You know, the show that I do to you. For you. Because it is just me & you, my love, & the problems of one very minor radio celebrity & one completely oversexed listener don't amount to a hill of beans in this laser-hair-removal world. What are those problems? Well, I'd suggest we start at the Potsdam Conference & work our way down.
I'm hungry. Want to grab a bite to eat? Cool.
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