Jacques Hyzagi, in the Observer, does a Hunter-Thompson-esque profile of 1960s relic Robert Crumb.

Vermin have a chemical way to sense their own kind. (Mind you, I don’t think I have ever liked anyone I’ve met yet. A functioning psychopath, an ex-girlfriend former writer at the New York Observer once called me.)

Read the whole thing.

What the hell is Crumb doing living in England?

Hat tip to James Harberson.