A kid asked the ole man:
“Why do symphonies have several movements, plays have separate acts,
and books have different chapters?  If a composer, dramatist, author or anyone has something to say, why not just out-with-it, and give us what you have in one unified,
unsegmented form?”  And the elder smiled and shook his friendly head:
“The next thing you’ll be asking is why words themselves have a beginning & end,”
and he was still smiling and shaking his head when the kid said:
“Why do words themselves have a beginning & end.”
(Moral: Never under-anticipate a smartass  –  especially when he is
your little smartass.)
 
 

One of the most meaningless threats ever uttered by a human is the one
commonly heard during a romantic breakup when a man tells a woman:
“You’ll never find another like me.”
 
 

Mary has a little lamb  –
everyone is Mary, and everyone’s lamb is  –  guess what?
 
 

One man says he used to make up fables with morals and became quite good at it with an impressive output, but says he had to give it up when he discovered himself later reading them and taking them seriously.
    (“It’s okay to strangle other people, but when you begin to choke yourself,
       well my gawd caruthers!  –  that’s a whole different story!”)
 
 

A man trying-to-get-to-the-bottom-of-things mentally wrestling with another
never can win; even if you do not seem to lose  –  you still cannot win.
Get used to it: He who-knows-what's-going-on is always wrong.
(Guess you could say that’s part of its fun..................if you want to.)
 
 

Whenever the king was going to have one of his old familiar thoughts executed
he would first locate its closest Mary-relative and tell her to eat hearty
since it would be everyone’s last meal.
(You can’t just kill the car, you must also take care of the dog chasing it.
    “By the way [if you don’t mind me asking]: How do we know that the dog is actually
     chasing the car rather than the dog’s running toward the car causing it to take off?”
Should we mind him asking?)
 
 

Which would a civilized & cultured  --  but  –  real man prefer:
An autographed picture of God, (Socrates, Michelangelo, Mozart, take your pick)
or a new nude one of Pamela Anderson?
 
 

Wherever the clown goes  –  the circus follows. (Oops, sorry:
you still think it’s the other way around.)
 
 

In a battle ‘tween a man and a skunk, root for the skunk  (if you’re  in the soap business).
    “How come I’m now just noticing that everything makes sense if you actually
      think about it: I mean personally examine the situation from all angles
      and think about all possibilities from every potential perspective,
      and sure as hell, every time, the thing will ultimately make sense.
       (I trust this realization won't interfere with my waking-up?!”)
One chap changed his name from: Abdullah (Servant Of God) to:
Dullahwullah (Tuner Of Flamingo Guitar For Pamela Anderson).
 
 

A reader sent this email:
“After carefully weighing your many parables involving kings, princes & neural tyrants, I have concluded that my own mind is like a kingdom except that mine seems to experience a coup every twenty to thirty seconds.”
 
 

Says one man proudly: “Change never turns out to be what it promises to be  –
and that’s why I gave it up.”
Yeah!   Why should anyone feel forced to do things they don’t want to do.
    (“Aw! – you’re puttin’ us on again.”
A guy noted to his dog: “You know something strange:
a man-who-knows-what’s going-on can't put anyone on.  Is that weird or what, Spot?”)
 
 

Seeing many of the creatures in his charge apparently without direction or purpose
this one god said to them: “Look here: Why don’t all of you just try to do-better!?”
And they all got really excited and began to shout: “How?” and the local big guy said: “Ah Jeeze –  forget it!
Having something to do in life is one thing  –  but taking it seriously is quite another,” he muttered to his self as he left.
(You could say that civilization itself is the result of hobbies run wild.)
 
 

One man’s full motto for living is: “Short & Sweet.”
(He says his next step is to condense even this.)
 
 

Everybody in the neural city worries about a lot of things, and if they didn’t,
the city itself would have plenty to worry about.
    (“Pardon, but is this related somehow to the:
       you-shouldn’t-hang-a-man-who’s-just-taken-a-laxative thing?”)
 
 

There is a drive within man that no biologist, psychologist, sociologist, priest,
poet or philosopher has yet spotted.
 
 

Only those who know how to think  –  know what to think.
 
 

In the Grand Second-Reality Ballroom they dance  –
they dance even when they seem not to dance.
 
 

Only those who know how to think  –  know what to think,
and they cannot tell you what it is since it is slightly different for everyone.....
well not really, but it sounds nice, don’t it.

When philosophers get wet and cold, they will sleep with anybody.
    “Pa pa: when did the fountainheads of our family line go from being called philosophers to being labeled priests, mystics and mythologists?”
“When the kings saw that too many people were taking what they said seriously.”
    “Ah! –  the old neural kingdom’s ever-present, self-protection!?”
“Always.”
 
 

The Kind Of News Story You Never See In City Papers.
While one group of people waited on the bus, the highways went on strike.
(Pop Quiz: Did anyone notice?
Only the certain-man understands fully the supreme five-fingered exercise.)
 
 

Conversation.
“Do you know the difference between being blissfully dense,
and at least suspecting that you could be less so?”
   “No I don't.                                      Well…….I guess that answers that.”
 
 

A complaining rebel is a wounded rebel,
and a rebel who you can tell is wounded is badly wounded.
For the certain-man: the smallest thing can become fatal if it becomes too serious.
    “You mean if it is taken too seriously!?”
Bingo!
 
 

Presenting himself as a: Broker Of Information, a chap in the city says he deals in both facts and his opinions, and adds that on most days he won't sell any of the former, and when asked why says that most people do not know what to do with such.
(He then demanded twenty bucks for his reply.)
 
 

Like everything else in man’s inner-reality: seriousness is just a hobby.
Fact: No one likes to hear that their whole life is just-a-hobby.
    “Excluding the man-who-knows!?”
Three cherries!
 
 

“Pop!” cried out the kid: “I have decided that my heroes are those who have
overcome the adversities in life with only peanutian abilities,” and the old man marveled to himself over the numerous possibilities this presented.
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Jan's Daily Fresh Real News