Nothing to Fear But Michael Crichton Himself

First, he taught us to fear the viruses.
Then the dinosaurs and/or the science of genetics.
Then he told us to tremble at chicks in the office.
He, rather dully, instructed us to shiver at the prospect of secret vessels from space.
He cried the first warning of the new Yellow Peril.
Most lately he took The War Against Terror to the enviro-whackos who blindly support well-researched scientific reporting over partisan "science" paid for by Exxon-Mobil et al.

Today, Michael Crichton has acheived a new high: he has torn the cover off of another liberal plot and pointed out the new enemy: people who criticize his books.

His hysterical, racist, sexist, dull-ish, paranoid-fantasy books. Oops--sorry.

Possibly there will be a character called "Metero" in his next novel who enjoys wearing women's clothing while masturbating vigorously in the ape house in the San Diego Zoo for the benefit of anonymous Asian sailors?

--Via Jesus' General.

In the spirit of full disclosure I must admit to reading and enjoying "Jurrasic Park" and "The Andromeda Strain". I must also admit to reading and yawning through "Sphere", and giving up on "Rising Sun".

Modern writers seem to eventually reach some sort of peak where they start suffering delusions of grandeur. But Crichton's been on a downslide since about 1981.