I finally find a use for an idea I’ve had for half my life — one sure to be wildly misinterpreted by the He-Man Woman-Hater’s Club that is the Taki comments section. There’s no way I’m gonna even take a peek in there this week…
Over the last quarter-century, up until today, this aborted work of fiction was never anything more than that title, an opening line (“At first, they’d planned to throw blood on the Embassy”), and a long-lost scribble of painful puns; the word “issues” topped the list.
I made excuses to myself about why I didn’t really start, let alone finish, this story.
Only now can I can admit the biggest reason of all: I was chicken.
Here’s the thing: I have a coal-black sense of humor, a barely embryonic inner censor, and an almost psychopathological indifference to criticism.
But my idea scared even me.
