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Derb Cops a Blighty One



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In re the flesh wound reported in my December Diary
a reader offers the definitive comment: “Derb—Good thing it wasn’t
your middle finger; then you wouldn’t be able to drive in NYC
anymore…”

That same reader also had a riposte to my remark about the C.S. Lewis
clones who dominated my early educational experiences with their
efforts “…to indoctrinate me in the joy of organized sports, the
necessity of uncritical faith, and the perils of self-abuse.” His
riposte: “Lucky you, Derb; count your blessings. Today you would be
indoctrinated in the perils of organized sports, criticism of
necessary faith, and the joys of self-abuse.”

I would give this reader a prize for his wit and alacrity, but am too
enervated (not to mention beggared) by the season’s festivities to
rise to it.



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