Suggested reading: this archival New Yorker story about maybe the funniest guy in America, living the life you'd like to think he's living (kinda discovered by Letterman, then frustrated for a decade or so), and finding his home at The Simpsons.
Two New Yorker snottism to ignore: First, the ill-informed dissing of South Park (gotta assure readers that NYer would never endorse more than one existing cartoon!). Second: "I've known Meyer for almost twenty-five years. We met at Harvard...? Oh, God. Blow me, right? Well, the story kind of turns out to be a biography so the author of the article kind of has an excuse for the egregious Ivy-dropping. (But still: Ick.)
Anyway, the subject more than makes up for the writing. So enjoy.
