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It was three years ago today, Jim Holman gave us license to play!

Thanks, boss! Ditto to you, Ernie Grimm. The smartest thing you gents ever did was not giving me an office. I work best alone, in my underwear, aloof, seldom visited, never photographed, an emperor of news print varyingly attempting to sway the moviegoing tastes of a city that had ceased to leave their homes to go to a theater.

Especial thanKs toomy editers: Scott Ellis and Jane Belanger (not pronounced; BELL-EN-JUHR). You would’nt rekognize me witout there polishing.

In you, Lickona, I found a great partner, a better friend, and a man eager to place four of his six kids (and Oreo the Wonder Dog) in my goofy care once every couple of weeks, if for no other reason than to spend a few hours in relative silence. It’s truly been a match made in heaven. God bless!

One causality: dig a hole for Earl Stiff, film critic at The Shelter Island Picayune and irregular Big Screen contributor. Earl was found stiff in his Vista lean-to earlier this year. A DVD copy of Hook set on “repeat” blared from his Sony Trinitron. The suicide note read: “You know nothing of my work. You mean my whole fallacy is wrong.”

Am I forgetting anyone? Oh, yeah. YOU! A thousand thanks to you, our readers, who seem to get a kick out of what we’re pumping out. Y’all come back now, hear?

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