NO STINKIN AUTOGRAPHS! by Teak Kilmer circa 1999 “Wow! That is powerful! I want a copy! May I have a copy?” “Sure.” “I’ll be right back. I’ll just go make a copy” Pacing while I wait for Faruk Abuzzahab, MD, PhD to return to his, my psychiatrist’s office. He returns, flips the poem around, places it on his desk that is on the pile of books and papers nearest to me on his desk and says, “Sign it for me, please.” I do, and I soon leave after I’ve told him there’s another one I just wrote, similar topic, more humorous. “Be sure you bring it next time.” “Yah, I’m intending to publish” I say. Seven and quarter hours later I realize I’ve just given out my autograph, then asked for and gave my autograph. I’ve never sought an autograph, not from Jerry Lewis or Joe DiMaggio that I introduced myself to at 14 years of age (got Jerry’s picture – clown pose) and dove into DiMaggio in the pool a...
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