In a shocking development, Alan Greenspan has revealed that he is incapable of writing his memoir on his own! Where other writers (even Bill Clinton!) might honor their end of a multimillion dollar publishing deal, it seems that Greenspan has hit a rough patch after Chapter 18 and requires the services of one Peter Petre (whose ghostly pallor has granted succor to the likes of Norman Schwarzkopf and Thomas Watson, Jr.) to help him commit his lurid life on paper. One hopes that Petre’s “collaborations” will involve applying a Chinese fan to Greenspan’s parched form as he hunkers over a typewriter in the New York summer heat, but it’s a fair bet that foot massages and sweet bedtime stories (to say nothing of the salver of milk and cookies) will likely be upstaged by the inevitable act of covering, if not outright kissing, Greenspan’s ass.