Okay. Nick Welsh, the writer? Holy cow. A colleague asked me at work if I’d read this week’s Angry Poodle. “Naw, I’ll catch it later,” I murmured through my work-fogged brain. I caught it later. Please, Lord, just take me now! Never mind the quixotic subject matter of the essay (which featured kittens, sprayed milk, and a much celebrated form of physical delirium), Nick Welsh’s explosively fun writing is worth the price of admission. Period. Why has our self-congratulatory little town not erected an outsized bronze statue to this guy? Nick, thanks for the excited attention you lavish on the written word. You turn Mother English into a bouquet of sparklers. Please give this man a raise.—Jeff Wing


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