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The New Yorker : Daily Shouts
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I know why I’m here today, Mr. Secretary. An inquiry? Right. It’s a setup, but I got this place surrounded with nurses, and every last one knows...

Lesser-known monsters that deserve a moment in the spotlight.

The tour kicks off in my home town of Philadelphia, where I will be yelling “Time’s up!” at various A.T.M.s.

What does getting buried in Isabella Rossellini’s mulch have in common with being turned into a human snack tray by Sydney Sweeney? Grant money.

I️ need to honor my existence and this wonderful life, and make things. But, first, I️ need to get out of bed.
