"Life on this planet was a crock." Go with God, Vonnegut

In the New York Times this morning:
Kurt Vonnegut, whose dark comic talent and urgent moral vision in novels like “Slaughterhouse-Five,” “Cat’s Cradle” and “God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater” caught the temper of his times and the imagination of a generation, died last night in Manhattan. He was 84 and had homes in Manhattan and in Sagaponack on Long Island.

I won't bother adding platitudes or praises to the funeral pire. It's probably like Vonnegut said about the passing of fellow curmudgeon Mark Twain:
He finally stopped laughing at his own agony and that of those around him. He denounced life on this planet as a crock. He died.

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