I am hilarious. Stand-up funny. Everyone says. Like at the very first reading for my very first novel, which is super serious, set in wartime, characters die, the narrator is possibly eaten, it’s ambiguous, and so too the presence, at the reading, front row, stage right, of my very first girlfriend, from high school, who came early and brought the Secret Service agent she married (great guy, shorter than me, less hair, armed?) and the minister who married them, and I still get everyone laughing, really rolling during the Q&A, until we’re way off topic, until my former boss raises his hand and asks his question, which isn’t one, but “you should be on TV, do stand-up.”
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