It’s amazing how many people don’t appreciate wit.

And not just nonplussed by a well-timed observation or a snappy rejoinder or a clever comment. Like, zero tolerance for a smart mouth. None-zo.

When it comes to movies, people expect zingy one-liners. They roll their eyes over cliched professions of sincerity, and voice their desire for something fresh and original.

But when confronted by the real thing? It’s all awkward silences and judging glares. Standoffish postures and raised eyebrows. Crossed arms. Pursed lips.

Nobody trusts a genuinely spontaneous remark these days. Especially a truthful one.
God forbid any enlightenment should accidentally spill over into the sphere of inane, safe commentary that blankets our daily communion.
Heaven help us if something doesn’t compute into a nice, 46-character box of philosophy. What then?

I’ll tell you what then. Then, you get to know what it feels like to be me. Then you get to experience the abominable and horrifying noun that is: writer.

Welcome to the freak show. Stay thirsty, my friends.