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No. 13, November 24, 1967, p. 14

The beautiful people, Mr. and Mrs. Boobie Swartmoure, gave a coming home bash for Jackie K., who's been doing Cambodia. (Did you see she wore pants at the ruins? Woman's Wear Daily must be going absolutely mad!) Joe Pool was there, drunk and obnoxious as usual, handing out "fuck communism" buttons. Jackie arrived late with Lord Harlot or whatever his name is. Debbie Reynolds mistook the butler for her husband and insisted on carrying him piggy back around the buffet table. Buffy St. Marie arrived with a bevy of naked Shoshone Indian braves. We all talked. about exciting things like how masterfully President Johnson uses his hands when he's talking, and how all the boys in Vietnam smoke reefer all the time. God, darlings, I wore a rose and a diamond earring and was the life of the party. Too bad you couldn't have been there ....

I wish Maria Muldaur of Jug Band notoriety would refrain from sending me vulgar little snips of gossip about her dull friends. You should really write pornography, sweetheart, I see you have a real FLARE for it. Same old thing, pretty face, dirty mind.

Judge Adlow, the darling little twinkly-eyed thing, declared AVATAR obscene! UP HIS!

A raging, high-pitched, red-eyed little transvestite called, get this, Rene Ricard, attacked Mel Lyman the other night in the back room (the place) of Max's Kansas City. Mel, slightly startled, but always the Master of the situation, just shut the little thing up by slapping his face. It turned out the reason for his attack was somehow everyone in New York thinks he's ME and he feels that I am ruining his name — YOUR name, you little bitch, think what you're doing to MINE!

"OM... OM... ON THE RANGE..."

Mayor Baba, disguised as Burl Ives, graciously maintains his silence, by humming along with both of his disciples, (Mustaches are the rage now darlings, for meditation).

Mel Lyman