And, by the way, it should be patently obvious to anyone reading this blog that I don’t have a brain, that I am “psycho-sexual,” that I am “near-misogynist” (I beat my girl the other day and she liked it) and that I am a far from well-adjusted individual. It is only through the slimmest of margins that I manage to hold onto my day job. There is no need for Mr. Wolfe to take away precious time from “working on a book” to prove what he already knows and believes, and what you should know and believe too. No one is more mystified than I am that you continue to read this banal drivel. It is all composed without a single synaptic impulse. It is contrived and hopeless in intent. There is little in the way of insight and I regularly mangle the English language. The only reason why people like John Updike talk with me is because I blow the man in the alley.