Went on a picnic with Karl Merleau-Marcuse . There was an earwig in the duck pate. He called me a rueful fig. I said his hat was tawdry. He drew his revolver. I drew mine. I was shot in the arm, spleen, gullet and shoe. Karl was shot in the kidneys, lips, ear and knee. Afterward, we laughed and wept bitterly at the folly of it.