Weekend Stubble

Staying in London certainly reacquainted me with the ancient British tradition of taking the piss out of authors. Along with an item by poet laureate "Andrew Goingthroughthemotions" ("Everything changes all the time / The sea, the sky, the seasons. / That sort of thing."), this week the satirists at Private Eye featured an, er, "excerpt" from the latest Naomi Wolf:

I had a lovely home and a beautiful family. My books had earned universal praise. But I still felt spiritually depleted. There was still something missing. Suddenly, I knew what it was.

"Daddy," I said, my soft azure eyes burning brightly. "Together, you and I -- together we must build ourselves a shithouse."

....Then he spoke, wisdom distilled from eight decades. "A shithouse," he said, "is an outdoor lavatory, an out-house containing a large receptacle for the purpose of defecation. But, more than that, it is a sanctuary, also, for the process of urination." A tear entered his eye. It was a tear of hope.

"Together, Naomi," he said. "You and I shall build that shithouse."