false 70184 121657 0375761276 9780375761270 25 http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1171834617m/121657.jpg http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1171834617s/121657.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/121657.Fierce_Pajamas_An_Anthology_of_Humor_Writing_from_The_New_Yorker 3.91 151 The New Yorker in 1925, he called it a “comic weekly.” And although it has become much more than that, it has remained true in its irreverent heart to the founder’s description, publishing the most illustrious literary humorists in the modern era—among them Robert Benchley, Dorothy Parker, Groucho Marx, James Thurber, S. J. Perelman, Mike Nichols, Woody Allen, Calvin Trillin, Garrison Keillor, Ian Frazier, Roy Blount, Jr., Steve Martin, and Christopher Buckley. Fierce Pajamas is a treasury of laughter from the magazine W. H. Auden called the “best comic magazine in existence.”]]> 70184 3.89 198 42 2001 4537005 1400068010 9781400068012 14 http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-111x148.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4537005.Disquiet_Please_More_Humor_Writing_from_The_New_Yorker 3.83 40 The New Yorker is, of course, a bastion of superb essays, influential investigative journalism, and insightful arts criticism. But for eighty years, it’s also been a hoot. In fact, when Harold Ross founded the legendary magazine in 1925, he called it “a comic weekly,” and while it has grown into much more, it has also remained true to its original mission. Now an uproarious sampling of its funny writings can be found in a hilarious new collection, one as satirical and witty, misanthropic and menacing, as the first, Fierce Pajamas. From the 1920s onward–but with a special focus on the latest generation–here are the humorists who set the pace and stirred the pot, pulled the leg and pinched the behind of America.

S. J. Perelman unearths the furious letters of a foreign correspondent in India to the laundry he insists on using in Paris (“Who charges six francs to wash a cummerbund?!”). Woody Allen recalls the “Whore of Mensa,” who excites her customers by reading Proust (or, if you want, two girls will explain Noam Chomsky). Steve Martin’s pill bottle warns us of side effects ranging from hair that smells of burning tires to teeth receiving radio broadcasts. Andy Borowitz provides his version of theater-lobby notices (“In Act III, there is full frontal nudity, but not involving the actor you would like to see naked”). David Owen’s rules for dating his ex-wife start out magnanimous and swiftly disintegrate into sarcasm, self-loathing, and rage, and Noah Baumbach unfolds a history of his last relationship in the form of Zagat reviews.

Meanwhile, off in a remote “willage” in Normandy, David Sedaris is drowning a mouse (“This was for the best, whether the mouse realized it or not”).

Plus asides, fancies, rebukes, and musings from Patty Marx, Calvin Trillin, Bruce McCall, Garrison Keillor, Veronica Geng, Ian Frazier, Roy Blount, Jr., and many others.

If laughter is the best medicine, Disquiet, Please is truly a wonder drug.]]> 70184 3.89 198 42 29303 4.14 1201 233 2008 6989493 0812979974 9780812979978 0 http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-111x148.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6989493-disquiet-please 0.0 0 29303 4.14 1201 233 70184 3.89 198 42 2010 7050778 1588368033 9781588368034 0 http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-111x148.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/images/nocover-60x80.jpg http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/7050778-disquiet-please 0.0 0 29303 4.14 1201 233 70184 3.89 198 42 2008