In honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. Day . . . more on commas.

Several years ago, there was a popular book called Conversations with God. The premise was that the “author” sat down one day with a blank pad of paper, and his hand suddenly started writing messages from god of its own accord. God turned out to be sufficiently prolific to generate a series of bestsellers.

I was reading one of those in my office one day when something struck me with the force of a speeding train—the 3:00 Acela Express, to be precise, which would have been on its way from Washington to New York at that very moment, except this was before the Acela Express existed, so its force at that point was purely theoretical.

Anyway, I do believe I called out, and my business partner came running in from the other room. He may have actually been in the same room, and I may have merely cleared my throat or something. I cannot be bothered with details this late in the day. The point is, I saw fit to call his attention to Conversations with God, which, again, if the conceit is to be believed, was written with the same hand that created the universe in six days and maybe dealt a game of Solitaire on the seventh.

“God uses the serial comma!” I announced, flush with triumph.

Enough said.

In your face, Associated Press!