When I crashed my VW Bug in 1969 (an amazing rollover - I drove it home sans windshield) I was sad my friend Harpo had a radio on his lap. Neither of us were wearing seat-belts but only Harpo's "lap" was injured. Not to fear, his normal gait returned in less than a week. But I knew then I was destined for greatness. Since that self-proclaimed prophecy has failed to come to fruition, about four years ago between bankruptcies, I decided to become a writer. Surprisingly, my wife still has a glimmer of hope and keeps buying me "How to Write" books at garage sales. Perhaps it is time for me to read one.