In the cryptic world of Irvin-type-Eustace Tilley-glossy-cartoon-intellectualism, there are two truths: one, cartoons and captions in The New Yorker have their own sense of "humor." Two, to cartoon or caption for the New Yorker is the highest honor an advanced-degree holding Caucasian mortal with disposable income can receive, more valuable than three MacArthur Genius Awards and more prestigious than five Nobel Prizes.
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