In city park a woman was berating her husband over his hoarding of old newspapers: “No one is interested in yesterday’s news,” which made a passing insurgent
pause in mid-step for a hearty chuckle.

Confided a guy in the waiting room:
“I've been able to bear up reasonably well thus far under the constant strain
and uncertainties of moral life, but what increasingly gives me nightmares is the thought of someday, fear coming to a complete stop in front of my house,
getting out and walking right up my drive.”

“Dear Dr. Exacto:
My mind won't stop talking about me;
any suggestions?
Yours,” etc.

Playing with words can be like playing with insanity
(this of course depends on how you verbally play with the word insanity).

If something is attractive at the 3-dimensional level,
just imagine how alluring it is at the 5-D.
    (“Unless you move into some other reality, there’s no way this news item can be
       applicable to man’s thinking  –  no way!”
           If you say so.)

Once, after attempting yet another explanation for his ofttimes erratic behavior,
a chap concluded: “I guess it’s just the price you pay for being me,”
and all who knew him, clutched their wallets tight.

In the city  –  regardless of what the subject seems to be  –
the current debate is always raging.
   (If chitty chitty bang bang’s engine is ever cut off  –  good luck ever getting it started again.)

Based on expert analysis of some ancient scrolls recently discovered in a cave near Solexus,
rock & roll began in 537 B.C.  –  not l953.
That which is apparent in second-reality also appears in another place in another guise.

It is easy enough to make fun of second-reality activities, but do note that
therein exists man’s only unique contributions to animal life.
   (“Hell – even snakes get drunk and go to titty bars,
       but only man goes to fancy meetings and pays to hear them condemned.”)

As all city employees should know by now: irony comes with the job.
   (“Even if you can't have-it-both-ways, as long as you're of ordinary mind you can
      remain oblivious to that sad fact.”)

No one understands intellectual-pretension until they have made the
full acquaintance of their own congenital mind.

A man feeding the ducks offers:
“If there was any real, hardball justice afoot in this life, historians would be our rulers,
the dead, our priests, and bank robbers, our economists.”
The sequence regarding carts and horses is of consequence only in realities of
finite dimensions.
The synaptic possibilities in a man’s mind, if not literally infinite,
are at least more abundant than the ordinary will ever explore.
   (Yep –  such uncommon responsibilities always fall on the inner-rebel.)

One man has told his friends that henceforth, he will only be stupid on Saturdays.
(It seems to be connected to a new cult he's joined that teaches
putting all your chickens in one basket.)
Men flying first-reality planes can only be shot down once,
while those ensconced in second-reality cockpits are not so limited.
   (That’s why there are more pallbearers than priests.)

News From Rebel Camp.
A revolutionist who hears the past calling him, has just gone AWOL.

As always in the first-reality, thuggery is its own reward.
   (And as for the second, ask the Mayor of any city.)

An ole sorehead in the park passes this along:
“It seems to me that the only requirements for being a city philosopher are:
the ability to speak,
a good memory,
a facility with words,
long hair and no answers.”
   (What would a man who can actually think, think about this critique?     He wouldn’t.)

Those who feel the need to defend their intelligence needn’t bother.