"The new Mark Twain or Jonathan Swift. A comic."
"A satirist," the editor amended. He leaned across the desk on his crossed forearms. "A mail response like this indicates a talent worth developing. We would like to discuss a series of stories—"
"Articles."
"Whatever you choose to call them. We're prepared to—"
"You ever been off your rocker?" Clocker asked abruptly.
The editor sat back, smiling with polite puzzlement. "Why, no."
"You ought to try it some time." Clocker lifted himself out of the chair and went to the door. "That's what I want, what I was trying to sell in my article. We all ought to go to hospitals and get ourself let in and have these aliens take over and show us where we're going."
"You think that would be an improvement?"
"What wouldn't?" asked Clocker, opening the door.