Sure-Fire, Never-Fail, Termite-Proof Test To Determine If You Are Stupid:
simply ask yourself this easy question: do you take life --  personally?
(just between you and somebody else,
you’re pretty much of a sure-thing, dumb-ass if you’ll even submit to taking a test like this).
    And the mayor of one busy city barked:
“Now I don’t know what to think!  Get me the latest polling results!” and an aide started to say that such an approach was unworthy a man of his intellectual prowess  --  but thought better of it  --  remembering that men (neurons) playing out his role see no humor in what they do   -- “Don’t you mean: ‘what they are forced to do?!’” --
of course, but if you beat imbeciles too severely on the head their first day in the home it tends to prematurely discourage them;
better a bit of verbal fudging in the beginning so as to leave room for them to believe they still have some degree of freedom;
a caged lion does much better if he feels his confined area is larger than it is,
and the bars further apart than they actually be.
    Meanwhile on the other side of the city, in the middle of the conference's
morning session, a man in the audience unexpectedly stood and loudly exclaimed: “Hold up!  Forget all your theories and speculations on this matter  --
                        it’s all suddenly become clear to me!”
and the chairman bang-banged his gavel, and shouted:
“Sir!  you have been warned before that such outbursts cannot be tolerated here!
We are professionals  --  learned, deliberate experts in our field  --
                 things do not  --  suddenly-become-clear-to-us  --   do you understand this?!

Life is arranged so that men peer outward and pretend to be in fear of ghosts, demons, gods and other assorted un seeable threats to distract them from conditions at home;
they have then been led to create such things as religion, psychiatry and decency
to protect them from things they have also been made to concoct;
thus does man struggle to defend himself when no assault exists  --
but when his thoughts say one does --  who in him is to say to the contrary;
when life wants to move in a certain direction it does not tie its left leg to its right,
and in normal men’s minds it does not install a court jester to tell the king that
his ideas are asinine;
if any man ever sees up his own mental ass it will be entirely due to the back bending efforts he individually made in his spare time away from his normal human job  --
off life’s official time clock.
    There was once a race of creatures who discovered a magical plant
that when eaten, extended their life span,
but it had a side effect: their longer days became ones of increased apprehension.
    Only the sick can be cured  --  and they can’t really be  --
which is what fuels their illness;
when you are human, with standard human thoughts, you are sick,
whether you see and admit it or not,
for only the sick can be treated  --  which is all life needs of man:
for his mind to have the impression that whatever it is that bedevils it can be treated;
it fails to tell him that a cure is not coming (but remember how it goes for imbeciles during their first days in the hospital).
    Without hope  --   would cows even bother to get out of bed in the morning!
In the city  --   in city minds, in city lives: only the sick are treated,
which helps explain why the rebel finds death preferable to merely, feeling-bad
(which is to say): feeling routinely human.
    The people in one valley would shout to those up in the mountains:
“Why deprive yourselves of half the fun of being alive!”
and the people in the hills understood what those in the valley were really saying:
“We down here, for some reason, feel we are missing half the fun of being alive.”
    No matter where you go in the thoughts that life has automatically provided for you personally, you will never be anyplace other than where you are now.
    You can spit off the top of your building, but you will never hit a cloud.
 

The speaker threw this question to the crowd:
“Why does man have synonyms for all his major organs, like:
pump, for the heart,
bellows, for the lungs,
filter, for the liver,
and disposal, for the intestines,
but not one for the mind?” and from the back a voice called out:
    “The mind is not an organ  --  the brain, yes  --  but not our collection of thoughts!”
“The point exactly!” replied the speaker.
When asked in an exit poll, ninety nine per cent of the audience said
they did not remember the above occurring (and the one per cent who did,
said they didn’t see the point).
    In the conscious activity in every man’s brain is a series of rotating speakers,
and always with an audience (a captive audience it might be noted) for what they say;
if this is the extent to which your mind is populated you are in for a lifetime of prejudicial propaganda & useless indoctrination (that is to say):
a normal mental existence.
 

A speaker so challenged his audience:
“The minds of men have coined synonyms for all their major organs, like:
pump, for the heart,
bellows, for the lungs,
filter, for the liver,
and disposal, for the intestines,
so why not one for the mind?” and from the assembled a voice called back:
    “For the same reason that Jack Sprat can’t dress himself.”
A son inquired of his father:
“How long am I going to be stuck with you?” to which the father replied with
the exact same words, which (did they live in a better universe) would have jolted them both into Mother Goose’s Tomorrow Land  --  the secret near-by realm in which
all that is imaginary is completely swallowed up (by somebody or the other).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

One man says he thinks life provided the realization so that those who
want it/need it will have something to do, and everyone else (when they hear about it) will have something to scoff at.
 
 
 
 
 

The Land Of Grope consists of two factions:
those who want to grope, and those who want to be groped,
(not unlike on this planet, the brain's capacity to generate thought,
and what it normally does with it).
 
 
 
 
 

A full bucket said to a dog:
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be empty!” and the canine replied:
      “I believe you meant to say that to the human with me.”
 
 
 
 
 

Mused one man: “The really great thing about life is that even when it comes in late, drunk and its clothes all messed up, it still won’t apologize or offer excuses.”
                                           “Hey, that’s easy for you to say!”