I have become a compulsive footnoter. It began when I first read Cuppy’s Decline and Fall of Practically Everybody. I was too young to get most of the jokes, but even then I could tell all the best lines were in the footnotes. Then, when I was somewhat older, I read Carel Kapek’s War with the Newts. Kapek is best known for giving us the word “robot,” derived from the Polish for “work,” in his play, RUR. War with the Newts is riddled with footnotes, making references to everything from Karl Marx to Johnny Weissmuller.  Later, I read the hilarious and trenchant political biography, Making of a Prefident. I don’t remember the author but, like Cuppy, he was a master of the footnote. It reached a crisis point when I came across David Foster Wallace. Wallace irritates me sometimes, but I glory in his extensive, relentless footnoting. Now I’ve begun footnoting everything.  I can’t help myself, Lord help me. I’ve become convinced the most interesting part of my writing is the footnotes. When I die, I’ll need a twenty-foot gravestone: the top will say simply, “Man Martin, Husband and Father.”
 Is this even a real thing? My spell-checker doesn’t think so.
 Cuppy writes that Alexander was called “The Great” because he killed more people of more nationalities than anyone up to that time. A footnote goes on to explain he did this to impress Greek culture on them.
 I’ve never read RUR. Is it any good?
 The conclusion of the novel has eerie resonance with Global Warming. Intelligent super-newts are gradually destroying the continents, undermining the coastlines to create salt-water shallows in which to breed. Humans continue abetting the process, supplying the newts with dredging equipment, etcetera, because there’s money in it.
 The misspelling was deliberate; the author was spoofing 18th Century orthography.
 Marvin Kitman. I just looked it up.
 Although Infinite Jest was a little too infinite, if you ask me.
 This, for example.
 And it is, too, isn’t it?
 Everything else will be footnotes.