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The Daily Musings
of Jan Cox

A reader emails to say that she’s found the long suspected “missing verse” of that great universal anthem, “Hey, What’d You Expect!” and gives the words to this stanza as follows:   There was a young lad
who constantly said,
'What does science know?'
up until the day he graduated,
after which he announced,
‘I am now a scientist –
What’d you wanna know? 
What’d you wanna know?'

Over in another locale is an up-and-coming little organization who operational slogan reads – “A Mind Is A Terrible Thing.”

Treason is possible only if you can JUMP above gravity.

Blasphemy is realized only when you can SPIT in your face.

“In some way, all are prisoners,” declared the park philosopher.
“Do you mean just man, or all creation?” asked a voice from the crowd.
“Aye the latter,” he replied.
“Then what say ye about the birds and the wind?” he asked.
“I have an answer for them also,” he replied, and after a pause the voice pressed on,
“Then may we have it?”
“Nay,” he replied, “They must come and ask for themselves.”
…(Now, even if this didn’t actually happen, in a park, between two people, in a dimensionally determined universe, would you believe – would you believe for one-fitting-flash that the ole philosopher’s words represented an escaped lunatic’s description of the inner sanctum of the asylum?  Would you?  Could you?)

Update of a Golden One:
“One guy used to talk to himself,
                                                                       until he realized how dumb he was.”

There are usually several productions playing in the same theater – yeah, that’s right
                                                                                                            simultaneously!

   Whenever he was ill, or otherwise systematically damaged, this one chap refused to accept a diagnosis from anyone without an engineering degree.

One man kept borrowing stuff from his god, and confidentially confided that his theory was that so long as he had something that belonged to The Big Guy, he wouldn’t die.
(In the last reality in which this tale was made public, a brand new, re-treated religion sprang from its linguistic loins.)

   There was once a man who read his email, but would deny he’d done so;
   there was another man who didn’t read his email, but if asked, would say he did;
   there was yet a third man who used to get his email, and he threw it all away.

Based on the recorded transcript, the professor’s speech went like this:
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, the way the human mind works is actually quite simple:  First it flops over this way, then it flops over that way.  Thank you so much, and good evening to you…..Okay, where’s my fee?  Who’s got my dough?  Hey, you come over here….”

It was not, he said, hearing the voices that frightened him, but rather – periodically –
                        understanding what they were talking about.

Graffiti Found In A Dead Man’s Ear: 
“A mixed metaphor is a tasty metaphor.”

Another man who calls himself a fan had a telegram hand delivered to the office demanding to know, “Why is it easier to be faithful if you’re ugly?  Stop.  And what does this have to do with thinking, anyway?  Stop already.”

At first he said his wisdom came from books;
then he said his understanding arose from nature;
after that he said his knowledge was from his own insight;
and finally he became smart-enough to shut-up.

          Because of the present lighting problems in the universe,
          men are not able to make out any gods who aren’t either optimists or pessimists….
                                                                                                                    but just you wait.