as ergot goes, ergo ego

[Brad Schreiber]

I recall reading, from a San Francisco public library, a book whose title 
may well have been THE DAY OF ST. ANTHONY'S FIRE. It recounts an incident 
of massive ergot poisoning in a small French village, thanks to the local 
baker getting a bad batch of rye. Hallucinations among the villagers 
included a man drowing himself after thinking he could levitate himself 
off a bridge and a poor little girl who swore to her anguished mother 
that a tiger was gnawing on her toes, as she lay sweating and agonizing 
in her bed.

Of course, not immediately knowing the source of the chaos, the villagers 
assumed it was some twisted form of divine retribution for presumptive 
misdeeds. Which is basically my explanation for the birth of Newt Gingrich.

And by the way, if Richard Lester really did, as I have heard more than 
once, direct THE BED-SITTING ROOM on LSD, why not make him a candidate 
for directing GR. Although, having seen Lars Von Trier's epic, bizarre, 
supernatural Danish t.v. series THE KINGDOM, he should be the front-runner.
Corned beef, hold the rye.
Brad Cyber