A play on the popular game and its host, whose name is the same name of my ill-begotten once non-son. All language has become play is a common claim, i..e, name that tome: “What is ‘what condition my condition is in?”
In the excitement of the invitation to the echofest, I kept writing to someone about San Merino. Finally she asked whether I was going to a woolgatherer’s meeting.
BOY WITH POTATOES ON HIS NOSE: (sheepishly)
Yes, in a sense. (Innocence in no sense.)