Last Week

I recently met a mustachioed man in a pizzeria who claimed he knew Salman Rushdie before he was famous. He said that Rushdie used to be the champion bear-wrestler in Pokenhow county before his wife read his diary. She forbade him from further wrestles, so he stayed in most nights to watch M*A*S*H and help her set up her Department 56 collectables. "Fiddlesticks," I said. "M*A*S*H airs only in the afternoon." "Not in Pokenhow county," the man retorted, and proceeded to pick all the green peppers off his slice.

Naturally, these tidings troubled me, so I poured over Rushdie's work in the hopes of finding some evidence of their veracity. I found nothing, so I ran back to the pizzeria to pump the man for more information. He wasn't there, so I ordered a medium pepperoni and black olive pie to go.