Looky here at this bit of fine judgment displayed by one of my all-time favorite comedians:
I love Christopher Titus for the same reason I love Pat Conroy: I don't feel it unique or necessary to have to write a book about my youth or growing up in a 1200 sq ft house with seven other brothers and sisters. Between the two of them, they've pretty much covered all the bases.
Which means I can blog about blissfully boring oddities and non-dramatic passages in life.
And I don't have to mention that someone emptied their six-shooter at 3:00 a.m. this morning on the street in front of my house. What? I counted the shots: 1 . . . 23456. I checked the clock. I lay in the bed listening. No car. No shouts. No nothing. I peeked out the window from the darkened bedroom and saw more nothing.
I went back to sleep secure in the thought that I had more guns and ammo than they.