A
man asked a relative:
“Would
you rather be someone with a great talent in a certain area
or
someone with a public forum in which to criticize those who work in that
area?”
(“No one asked me, but I’ve got to tell you: that is one
dirty
question.”)
On
any occasion when one chap would see a reflection of his self,
he’d
stop for a moment – take it in – then smile
and say:
“I
can’t believe that all of this is me.”
When
alligators heard that humans had placed them on a Protected List, they
sneered.
By
instinct do all know what to do.
(“Except for the civilized, of course?!”
Of
coarse.)
Those
who believe in the supernatural have an underdeveloped acceptance of the
natural -- of what it is to be human.
One
man’s consciousness was in charge of both shipping and receiving.
(“It’s
the only way to go,” he notes.
“To me it seems nice for men to have-a-way-to-go.”
To himself
one man often sings: “You save a lot when you buy direct.”
After doctors
had pronounced him terminally ill & he mentioned it to no one,
the local
god came to a man and said that he’d lift the illness if the man would
first agree to tell some people about his impending demise, and the deity
was
quite
surprised by the amount of time the man took in considering the offer.
The
Mathematics Of Pleasure.
If
it weren’t for being able to think about what you do, before, while and
after you do it, what humans do wouldn’t be half as much fun.
(“A fourth as much to be exact, no?!”
Da.)
One man
says he’s found the bluebird of happiness (even though
every time
he approaches it in his yard it gets huffy and tells him to buzz-off,
he still
insists that he's got the right one and it's just trying to maintain anonymity).
One
man has written a manuscript that he has titled:
“How
To Get High Without Doing Yourself Any Harm,”
which
his publisher countered is not possible, “Oh yeah!?” he counter countered,
“how
about the matter of waking-up?!”
and the publisher replied:
“Exceptions
don’t count” – which completely stymied him.
One
man refuses to read his own palm due to a previous unpleasant episode
when
he attempted to cast his horoscope.
You
save a lot when you buy direct.
Whenever
he’d see a photo of his self
one
man would always mutter:
“It
could be anybody” --
and
no one ever understood what it meant --
including
(he
suspected) him.
To
avoid eviction, one man intends to change his name to
Wilburfuck
Doublefart in
the belief that no judge will want to have
his
signature on a document containing such words.
On many
evenings when one man would review his words for the day, he’d think:
“Who writes
this tripe?”
More From
The City.
One man’s
advice to clients: “If you can’t adequately describe what it is
that you
do, just be sure to say that it is: cutting-edge.”
One
guy says he thinks that anyone who uses hand gestures when they talk
doesn’t
know what they’re talking about; he admits he can’t prove it,
and
that it’s probably not true, but that he likes saying it anyway.
Frequently
do men hit into double plays when they feel like they didn’t deserve to
be on first to begin with.
It’s not
hard to get a man down when you’re on top of him.
(“Are you referring to my natural born consciousness?”
And some
of you still think the spatial layout of the human nervous system is just
the result
of happenstance.)
A
rumor says that once in an offhand moment the muse of human consciousness
admitted its great admiration for the hippopotamus: “On the surface it
seems so harmless --
even cuddly, yet can be so extraordinarily vicious.”
One
man says you should be constantly writing to as many famous people as possible,
in that all of them have a secret contest whereby every thousandth person
who contacts them wins a boatload of fancy prizes.
(“That’s
the kind of crap famous people have to do to stay famous,” he adds.)
One
guy’s theory is that inside of them, everyone has the negative of an embryonic
picture of their self – which they don’t know how to develop
–
because
they are its development (well, up to a certain point).
And
one guy confides:
“I
really don’t appreciate it when people say that I’m not
mentally
challenged.”
One
man has a new ploy: when his mind takes off on one of its common rantsabout
him, he’ll gently say:“I am not going to listen to you,
unless
you speak to me in a less abrasive tone.”
Another
chap, whenever he sees his image reflected in something,
will stop
long enough to move in close and forcefully whisper to the image:
“Don’t
try to make me look back.”
Bob says
he sometimes wishes he was in politics so that when he engages in Bob-bashing
he
could accuse his self of, Bob-bashing.
One
man tried every trick he knew to keep his audition tape from being made
public.
If your
mind feels compelled to think about other people’s questions when you hear
them, you’re not being exposed to the questions that can be useful.
(“Which would come from I’ll bet I can guess where.”
Probably.)
In
the tradition of television news program promos:
One
man speaks exclusively only
with his self.
By
its very nature – consciousness creates mysteries.
One
man became no race, no nationality, no culture, no family,
no
name ---
and
no one he respected cared.
(“And I’ll also wager I could guess who constituted this group.”
Probably.)
Every
night one man writes out everything he’s going to say the next day
so
that he can make needed corrections in advance.
A chap
asks: “How disappointed do you think buses are
when they
come to a stop and no one is there.”
Another
guy decided that hidden at the very bottom of every newspaper
was a
secret and extraordinary additional story.
(Note:
by: at-the-very-bottom he meant: you read the paper down to
the
last item
on the last page, then lay it aside and look –
and there
is the additional story).
By
just being here – consciousness creates mysteries.
Sometimes
when he’d suddenly think of how happy he was to be doing
the certain
thing that made his life worthwhile, one man
would begin to cry –
and when
he’d realize what he was doing – it’d make him laugh.
One
man began to be unable to remember much of anything about his life, well
–
so
he pretended
– (which got the job done).
J
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