‘Strand unacquainted bus travelers in the middle of the night, and what do you get? A lot of bad drama, and a shake-and-bake Mayflower Compact. Each, instantly, adds what he or she can to the solution. Why? Each wants, and in fact needs, to contribute—to throw into the pot what gifts each has in order to achieve the overall goal, as well as status in the new-formed community. And so they work it out.’

David Mamet lay out his new orthodoxy – and explains why he’s no longer a ‘brain-dead liberal’ in The Village Voice.

A fez. A blog. Bestial sodomy. What’s not to like about the latest update from our man in Kusadasi with the long lens and a wry smile?

That’s the admirably pithy summary of Pete Doherty’s jailbird junkie antics in The Sun.

“He said Charlton Heston went around his house in Rodbourne for tea. But no-one believed him.”

Masterpiece of short-order regional hackery from the Swindon Evening Advertiser, linking that idyllic hamlet to the death of Moses.

‘…we now accept that Heinz has never produced Swastika shaped spaghetti nor did it support the Nazi regime in any other way…’

From Loaded magazine’s craven apology to the makers of Alphabetti Spaghetti. Cannot see full text? It’s probably been deleted so here’s a screenshot.

‘In 1984, he joined TVS as controller of entertainment, launching the solo television careers of Brian Conley, Matthew Kelly and Bobby Davro.’

Maverick kingmaker joins company who last made nation chuckle in 1982. Lenny Henry on line one…

“…it no longer requires a dystopic imagination to wonder who will have the dubious distinction of publishing America’s last genuine newspaper. Few believe that newspapers in their current printed form will survive. Newspaper companies are losing advertisers, readers, market value, and, in some cases, their sense of mission at a pace that would have been barely imaginable just four years ago.”

Eric Alterman foretells the demise of inky fingers in The New Yorker. We blame bloggers.

‘Like his fellow Carthusian, Thackeray’s Colonel Newcome, Daintrey ended his days in the Charterhouse where to the end he was visited by many young women. I have lost an old friend and I do not doubt that Daintrey’s passing will bring a tear to the eye of more than one lady of quality and black bus conductress.’

From Antony Powell’s coda to the Daily Telegraph obituary of Adrian Daintrey. Published October 13, 1988. Reprinted in The Daily Telegraph Book of Obituaries: Celebration of Eccentric Lives Vol 1, pp. 98-100. (out of print).

‘Attention: the good portion of audio equipment and a bad portion are clarified. It may be estimated as a bad cable. Please don’t hurry a conclusion.’

From the introduction to the pamphlet accompanying the ARSP-500 Balanced Type Speaker Cable, long may it reign.

‘Chris was a nervous man, and as he spoke, his whole face seemed to quiver. His animating hands shook a little, as if battling a caffeine dip. He had encouraged us to call him Yop because it made him feel younger, cooler, and more accepted. He kept his graying hair long, so it curled up near the ears, but age had thinned it on top. He was married to a woman named Terry and on weekends he played bad rock songs for a seventies cover band. He was always asking everyone what they were listening to these days. We considered it half-noble, half-pathetic when passing his office to hear some new rap album issuing from his CD player, when everyone knew what he really wanted to be listening to was Blood on the Tracks.’

From the remarkable debut novel, Then We Came To The End, by Joshua Ferris. Published by Penguin Books Ltd. Excerpt copyright Joshua Ferris, 2007.