Grackerbarrel musings about overpopulation, the bomb, the U.N., the League of Nations and ""that great and tragic President"" Woodrow Wilson (to some. ""ludicrous and word-mongering"" might be more accurate); in short, a prattling, ho-hum series of essays on modes of world destruction and the terminal condition of modern man, a toothless Generation of Vipers, with ancillary remarks about the South Seas, the neuroses of man in motion as he transports his carcass about the earth, some amusing suppositions about moon shots and the universe, mega-government, -labor, -business, oh on and on and on! ""As I try to put together what the newspapers, magazines, books, radio, and television tell us of what is going on around the world, I feel the mighty rush of history accelerating past my ears."" Well, whoosh! to history ... forget it. It's pettifogging writing like this that's the reason the minigeneration is copping out, blowing the scene and generally hastening to the exit.