Salon’s own Cary Tennis is always a fun read, because he’s utterly incomprehensible. On the surface, he’s an advice columnist, but I always suspected the man of writing a parody of an advice column. Either that or being clinically insane. Today, though, he allows us a glimpse into the inner workings of his mind.

These are the kinds of things I think about when I write the column. I think about geniuses dying in Memphis hotel rooms.

I should have known.