P.J. has written many wise and wonderful things over the years, I suppose. I don’t really know because I have not read most of them. My ignorance of his past 45 years notwithstanding, I would gladly present his case for a spot in heaven. I wouldn’t even need to say a word. I’d just hand ol’ St. Pete a copy of this.
He was funny once upon a time …
In recent years he was the best part of NPR’s often uneven Wait Wait…
My candidate would be his immortal essay “How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your WIng-Wang Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink.”
To this day, I wonder if the Sports Car Club of America survived his description of them as ” a bunch of tweedy old barf mats who like to talk about things like what necktie they wore to Alberto Ascari’s funeral.”