“In our society any man who does not weep at his mother's funeral runs the risk of being sentenced to death.” — Albert Camus
From little schticks big megillahs grow.
The two greatest lives (they're not really careers): an announcer like Pardo or the guy who writes a jingle and then collects endless residuals.
"Don Pardo" sounds like a Cervantes character, but his parents emigrated from Poland.
I bet the first time anyone took note of his existence is when he died.
Yep. Nothing says "What a nobody!" like a long obit in the NYT.But if you're serious about betting, I'm in.
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