I failed to report the death recently of major-league pitcher Bill Henry, which was good, since he turned out to be a fraud. Actually, I only heard about him due to the hoax, and its eerie resemblance to a recent plot from Gil Thorp. Now, the New York Times continues the fraudulent-behavior-belied-by-obituary's-dissemination theme with a discussion of an unscrupulous, or senile, photographer. So remember, friends, if you're living a lie, make your final wishes very clear: No Obituary. Stress your humility, or make up a story about a murder rap in Idaho. More interesting than a padded resume.

A list of fraudulent literary works attributed to living authors. Howard Hughes' "diary" is mentioned, of course, as is a joke book by Thomas Paine (Paul Collins, who wrote this piece, discusses Thomas Paine's voluminous writings from beyond the grave in his excellent book tracking Thomas Paine's post-mortem adventures, The Trouble With Tom, which I highly recommend), but I was most interested in the Dickens knock-offs, with titles like David Copperful and Oliver Twiss. It would seem that Thomas Peckett Press had mastered the promotional tactics of the porn industry, over a full century earlier. (I believe "David Cop-a-feel" is just a convenient stock punch line, and not an actual porn title, but I'm at work, and probably would be well-served by not looking that up just now)