Don't Do It.

Okay.

Now I've just spent an hour reading WA essays from Atlantic Monthly and New Yorker each truly more fucking brilliant than the last, I am sitting here quite literally Ling O really L, and listening to interviews and I've half a mind to... write him an e-mail.

I will not.

I will not.

I will not do this.

NO, Scarlet, no, do not be a whore, ye who spoke so hypocritically over dinner about sex industry workers and their tragic fate. ye who are 24 years old. just fucking stop it.

okay.

ok.

Sigh.

Among top 5 moments shared w literary journalist/critic/essayist/ivyleague professor/awardwinning novelist W.A:

W.A. (re: Paul literally forgetting his wallet...) Yeah, that's, that's like saying you forgot your penis at home...

W.A's GF: (laugh laugh) We were at the Halloween store in NY, and he was going to get me something, and I was like Oh no, I'll pay for it, and he wouldn't let me, he was like, Don't, that's making my dick shrink...

S: HA!!! That's GREAT--

W.A's GF: All the salesgirls were like OMG!!!

P: What is this about?

W.A: Amanda wanted to pay for something and I told her my dick shrinks every time a woman says that...

S: God, I would've CLAPPED. Like, thank GOD. I mean, really, actually, like, MY dick shrinks every time a woman says that...

W.A: HA!!!!