Klavan dies at dawn because he arises daily at 4:30 to provide four hours of madness on a New York radio station, with the assistance of a slightly saner partner named Dee Finch. The author has the sort of wild imagination that suggests that he breakfasts on hallucinogenic drugs and possesses an assortment of ""voices"", accents and dialects that implies a studio filled with comics and ventriloquists. This all adds up to a funny man and, to the surprise of no one, he has written quite a funny book. With meticulous irreverence he comments on radio broadcasting, payola (not guilty) and advertising. As a change of pace, he serves up completely fictional nonsense on the perils of a nubile young songwriter from the sticks, advice to foreign visitors, and what to expect in New York. Read it straight through, if you will, but for the veritable, radio Klavan, interrupt frequently with commercials and with an occasional phonograph record.