This is a picture book and each picture is accompanied by a few lines of prose. This is a sick picture book and each sick picture is accompanied by a few lines of sick prose. This is a book about worry, baroque worry and basic worry. This is a book not nearly so funny as Kovacs was- or Douglas, or Nichols and May, or Mort Sahl are. But it is a book that will be laughed at by many who laugh quite easily. All you have to do is say: ""Mary Martin's home is Brazil"", ""Dinah Shore is growing bald"", Sherman Billingsley, or Myrna Loy. There is a shelter for the undisciplined, the formless, the thoroughly lacking in technique or aesthetic values. This is the abode of the ""sicky"", the hipster, the perennial college sophomore, the intellectual dilettante. And he needn't worry about a thing. Absurdity sells. Audiences howl. And there will always be a Dr. Schweitzer.