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«	The Mailer Review • Volume 4 Number 1 • 2010 • Literary Warriors	»

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Written by
Max Apple

Abstract: Mailer has been . . . uniform edition.

Note: This paper served . . . me to participate.

URL: https://prmlr.us/mr07dick

I

So what if I could kick the shit out of Truman Capote, and who really cares that once in a Newark bar, unknown to each other, I sprained the wrist of E.L. Doctorow in a harmless arm wrestle. For years I’ve kicked around in out-of-the-way places, sparred for a few bucks or just for kicks with the likes of Scrap Iron Johnson, Phil Rahv,Kenny Burke, and ChicoVejar. But, you know, I’m getting older too. When I feel the quick arthritic pains fly through my knuckles, I ask myself, Where are your poems and novels? Where are your long-limbed girls with cunts like tangerines? Yes, I’ve had a few successes. There are towns in America where people recognize me on the street and ask what I’m up to these days. ‘’I’m thirty-three,” I tell them, “in the top of my form. I’m up to the best. I’m up to Norman Mailer.”

@@ Line 5: / Line 5: @@
 {{Working}} <!-- EDIT BELOW THIS LINE -->
-{{Byline|last=Apple|first=Max|url=https://prmlr.us/mr07dick|abstract=Mailer has been . . . uniform edition.|note=This paper served . . . me to participate.}}{{dc|dc=S|o what if I could kick the shit out of Truman Capote,}} and who really cares that once in a Newark bar, unknown to each other, I sprained the wrist of E.L. Doctorow in a harmless arm wrestle. For years I’ve kicked around in out-of-the-way places, sparred for a few bucks or just for kicks with the likes of Scrap Iron Johnson, Phil Rahv,Kenny Burke, and ChicoVejar. But, you know, I’m getting older too. When I feel the quick arthritic pains fly through my knuckles, I ask myself, Where are your poems and novels? Where are your long-limbed girls with cunts like tangerines? Yes, I’ve had a few successes. There are towns in America where people recognize me on the street and ask what I’m up to these days. ‘’I’m thirty-three,” I tell them, “in the top of my form. I’m up to the best. I’m up to Norman Mailer.”
+{{Byline|last=Apple|first=Max|url=https://prmlr.us/mr07dick|abstract=Mailer has been . . . uniform edition.|note=This paper served . . . me to participate.}}
+==I==
+So what if I could kick the shit out of Truman Capote, and who really cares that once in a Newark bar, unknown to each other, I sprained the wrist of E.L. Doctorow in a harmless arm wrestle. For years I’ve kicked around in out-of-the-way places, sparred for a few bucks or just for kicks with the likes of Scrap Iron Johnson, Phil Rahv,Kenny Burke, and ChicoVejar. But, you know, I’m getting older too. When I feel the quick arthritic pains fly through my knuckles, I ask myself, Where are your poems and novels? Where are your long-limbed girls with cunts like tangerines? Yes, I’ve had a few successes. There are towns in America where people recognize me on the street and ask what I’m up to these days. ‘’I’m thirty-three,” I tell them, “in the top of my form. I’m up to the best. I’m up to Norman Mailer.”