Not a shred of evidence exists in favor of the idea that life is serious.
If it were better, it wouldn't be as good.
It is in the nature of the New Yorker to be as topical as possible, on a level that is often small in scale and playful in intention.
I will try to cram these paragraphs full of facts and give them a weight and shape no greater than that of a cloud of blue butterflies.
Parody is homage gone sour.
