He destroyed my apartment and killed my cat.

Kurt Von­negut, dead at 84. I’ll amend this post lat­er when I’m not scram­bling out the door for work. I won­der if it did­n’t occur to him to write an epi­taph on his kitchen wall in feces.

[Spe­cial thanks to my 10th grade Eng­lish teacher Phil Rep­ko who sur­rep­ti­tious­ly intro­duced me to Von­negut. Upon hand­ing me Break­fast of Cham­pi­ons he told me that if I were appre­hend­ed, that I nev­er to admit that I’d got­ten the book from him. Boy­er­town had moments where book ban­ning seemed like­ly, and Von­negut would’ve been tops on the list.]