Wry Martinis

Wry Martinis

Christopher Buckley

Language: English

Pages: 294

ISBN: 0679452338

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

n the most inebriating humor book of the year, the author of Steaming to Bamboola and The White House Mess goes straight for the funny bone with essays and mischief that includes such gems of gullibility as the pope's appearance on Oprah, O.J. Simpson's search for a new apartment, the true story behind Whitewater, and so much more. Illustrations.


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I do mean everything. CAITLIN (pointing to her foot): Is God in my toe? DAD: Well, basically. The point is, he’s in you. And in Mommy, and in Conor … CAITLIN (suddenly alarmed): God is in Conor? A few hours later: “Is God in Conor even when he does something really bad, like putting the firewood log in the toilet?” (Confidential to agnostic parents: Expect a barrage of questions intended to provoke you, such as “Is God in bubble gum?” The good news is that eventually your kids will tire of

me, ‘I gave this book to my wife and said, “Here’s the stuff I can’t tell you.” ’ And that’s very satisfying.” Clancy is writing his second book with a coauthor, Larry Bond, his son’s godfather and the creator of Harpoon, a naval-strategy game that sells in hobby stores for $9.95. Clancy says it was his best source for Red October. “It explains how weapons and sensors work. It’s played with miniatures. Mainly you do it on pencil and paper.” Though reviewers praised Clancy for his extraordinary

option. Peter Jennings was very gracious, under the circumstances. He called personally, without an intervening secretary, “to get your exact title.” That night, with the expression of a headmaster informing assembly that one of the students had let down not only the school, but himself, he retracted the story. To the quite numerous reporters who called him for comment, he said that he had believed the story because it had come from Forbes, which he regarded “up to now, as a responsible news

coeducation. There weren’t nearly enough women at Yale and the really sharp-looking ones had been made paranoid by the hormonal effrontery of the more than “one thousand male leaders” that President Brewster had alluded to in a recent speech. The King was crucified for that statement, and so was poor Joyce Maynard, for her defense of virginity and for her observations on behalf of her generation. She had said nothing especially controversial or offensive in any of her articles. It was the we’s

which Timothy Dwight’s best and brightest trained all year long and which involved swallowing eight ounces of beer in less than one second (I think the record was .8 sec.)— I will not go into. But I should mention the Yale Invisible Precision Marching Band, whose halftime shows Woodbridge Hall began censoring after its Salute to Birth Control one game. The alums were apparently unamused when the band assumed the shape of a coathanger and marched from end zone to end zone playing “You Must Have

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