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I'm dead now. Been that way for some time. But let me tell you, when I was alive I was something. Made quite a stir back in the 50's. Not too many dope-shooting homosexual graduates from Harvard publishing autobiographical accounts as pulp novels. (What are you thinking, Mr. Lee?) Not surprisingly, my death gave rise to the queerest of experiences, as I was forced to trundle about for days as a centipede. Dante might have made some connection, but the point was lost on me, I'm afraid. If that's the worst The Almighty has to throw at me for a lifetime of sordidly perverse transgressions, then the rest of you have nothing to fear. All will be fixed in the end.
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