Yawn. We Made Another New Yorker Anthology.

If you can somehow wade through all the boring claptrap from the talentless, Sedarian likes of James Thurber, Woodie Allen, Steve Martin, et al, you'll find us -- top shelf intellectuals -- on the meat & potato pages: 256-258.

On your Amazon bookshelves now!

Of course, you can also experience the printed-on-paper version of us in the first collection of New Yorker humor, published a few years ago. But you still have to deal with Dorothy Parker, Bruce McCall, et al, all those unfunnyites.

While we're birthing gas here, you can also find our novalike nuggetry in the Best of Slate 10th Anniversary Edition and Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney's Book of Lists.

But fuckitall, you're here and we're here, and the Yanks have gone another day of November without signing somebody. (Except for Sergio Mitre.) That's gotta stop.