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Remembering S.J.
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Published Monday, October 17, 2011 @ 6:46 AM EDT
Oct 17 2011

S.J. Perelman, (February 1, 1904 - October 17, 1979)

Fate was dealing from the bottom of the deck.

For years I have let dentists ride roughshod over my teeth; I have been sawed, hacked, chopped, whittled, bewitched, bewildered, tattooed, and signed on again; but this is cuspid's last stand.

I guess I'm just an old mad scientist at bottom. Give me an underground laboratory, half a dozen atom-smashers, and a beautiful girl in a diaphanous veil waiting to be turned into a chimpanzee, and I care not who writes the nation's laws.

I loathe writing. On the other hand I'm a great believer in money.

Love is not the dying moan of a distant violin- it's the triumphant twang of a bedspring.

Philadelphia, a metropolis sometimes known as the City of Brotherly Love, but more accurately as the City of Bleak November Afternoons.

The dubious privilege of a freelance writer is he's given the freedom to starve anywhere.

The main obligation is to amuse yourself.

(YouTube video of a 1973 S.J. Perelman interview.)


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