Once, years ago, when broke, but determined to build my library, I started buying up $1 “classics” and bargain books. $1.00 was the limit.  One such book was by Philip Roth, which I THOUGHT was entitled THE BEAST.   I thought, aha!  Some gothic, psychological tome by a master of the absurd.

When I got home, and pulled it out to read, I realized the correct title was THE BREAST!       uhhh?

HILARIOUS!   This man who loves women’s breasts one day bursts, his bones disintegrate, his legs, arms, head submerge, and he BECOMES an actual breast… he is taken to a research hospital to live his life in a hammock HAAAA…   he was a college professor, so he thinks he can grade papers, if someone will read them to him (his eyes are lost somewhere in the flesh)… he is highly offended when  people cannot take him seriously, and spend their time laughing. He makes frequent appeals to “Dear Readers,” for compassion and understanding, sigh.   It was a surprising, great read I’ve never forgotten.

So, this morning, on news of his death, I lift up my cup of coffee to Philip Roth, Author Extraordinaire…life well shared, stories well told…when we miss him, we can read his books, and imagine he’s sitting in a chair across the room waiting for the laughs….


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