Bobbing about a bathtub sea in my claustrophobic ketch, the Boat Pope, I find myself gurgling the new mantra of the streets, the language of the jungle, the law of the land: "funny no longer is."

As we keep being reminded, Everything Has Changed. The Summer of the Shark has now segued with sudden violence into the Reign of Terror, and no amount of Cipro will ever make things right again.

What to do?

You can try antidepressant drugs, like Noxeline, or seek out entertainment as therapy. Perhaps an action movie like Dotting the Eyes or a tearjerker like Off the Record will take your mind off the sorry state of the world.

Or go see some live music. Why, last night in the city where I live I could have seen in three separate nightclubs, Vegetable Farm, Earbrow or Article Choke! Still fearful myself of a run-in with the evil white powder (coke), I decided to forgo the mosh pits and instead stayed home to watch Doc Mantra on The Voodoo Channel. Television, in all its shallow glory, has been my savior, and Dan Rather my Mother Superior.

Whatever - you do what you have to do to stay sane. My only advice is, comedy doesn't work - the last thing people want to do in times of crisis is to laugh.

Excuse me, it's time I get out of this bath.

Sincerely,
Welchommie

The author is a comedian, whose HBO comedy series Teacher's Pet has been nominated for six Emmy Awards; of indeterminate gender, he or she also edits Ogle Mogul, the monthly newsletter of the International Society of Inadvertent Humorists.