Is this what wit has been reduced to in the age of TV? Insipid adages, silly definitions (""Clone: perfume mixed in a test tube""), conversation stoppers, one-letter misprints (""Workers Arise! You have nothing to lose but your chairs!""), fiat verse, Gothic parodies, fractured names (""A morbid fear of toilet tissue -- Dred Scott""), unfamiliar quotations ("". . .let me ask you this: did you by any chance eat pizza or green apples before you went to bed? -- Sigmund Freud""), terrible fiddles, forgettable first lines, uninspired punch lines. . . ? But those are the kinds of demands New York magazine puzzle editor Mary Ann Madden (and if you take this nonsense too seriously, she will) makes of the zealots who enter her weekly competition. They respond con brio and with present-day socio-political relevance. Rotten puns, absurd anachronisms and ridiculous spoonerisms to tease a weary (very weary) brain. Lasts for hours and hours.