and for my next trick, i will write the great american novel!

Yep, I done this picture.

Lil’ maintenance today . . . some structural improvements . . . binary botox.

WhatmItalkinbout?

Well, when he’s not funneling semi-coherent rants from the stagnant recesses of his mind, Edward writes novels. That’s right!—not memoirs. Novels. Straight-up fictional accounts of things undone. And you thought the novel was dead. Ha!

Anyway, over the weekend, as you beat back the summer heat by rubbing a stick of frozen butter all over your body (or whatever it is you do), why not check out this fancy new page to your right . . . that’s it, keep looking . . . up near the top—nope, nope, too high, you’re clicking the monster . . . there. Ahhhh. My Life as the Source of All Evil. Click on that. It might tickle. But in a good way.

Here you’ll find Edward’s just-finished opus, My Life as the Source of All Evil (imagine that!). There’s a summary, an excerpt, and a pretty neat little drawing of Satan. Edward’s not making any promises, but—you know what? Screw that: this is the Great American Social-satire-disguised-as-supremely-black-comedy Novel. (Always good to be in a category of one.)

When you’re done perusing that, you could also take a(nother?) look at the page known as Why Me?, to which Edward has added a list of authors he admires. If you’ve ever wondered where the hell he’s coming from, well, blame these folks.

That’s about it . . . oh! oh! Just to update the legions of concerned citizens, it has now been 48 hours since the scarfing down of the possibly lethal tomato. Salmonella is said to strike between 12 and 72 hours after the ingestion of the corrupted foodstuff, so, fingers crossed, your vigil need only last another 24 hours.

Edward knows you haven’t slept from the anxiety. And he appreciates you focusing your bleary eyes on these words in spite of all that. Thanks, all.

Enjoy the weekend. If possible, offer Edward a ludicrously rich publishing contract.

 

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