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The Daily Reflections
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f Jan Cox

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WHEN PERIODS WON'T HELP
COMMAS CAN SAVE YOUR LIFE


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Literary Supplement

February 23, 2007                                          © 2007 JAN COX

 


Another pleasing "Blast from the Ole Double-Barrel":
The revolutionist journey is actually the only free trip in life...
and the only one that costs every bloody thing you hold dear.
(And the sacred, combined mystical spirits of Remington and Winchester cried out--"Boom, boom, and we just love it!")

 

 

A man taking out his garbage said to his neighborhood postal carrier, "I cannot--sad to say, but cannot--personally take life seriously as long as it allows biographies to be kept with the nonfiction shelf."
(Cans over here--rinds over there.)

 


One Man's Conclusion for a Friday:
"The trials and tribulations of the secondary world are quite often constructed of steel re-enforced, cotton candy."
By Monday he was already doubting the legitimacy of such assumptions, and was asking himself,
"What doeth it profit a man if he gain relief, but breaks his teeth."

 

 

 

At that new city bus stop a man said that he'd come to the conclusion that trying to study your mind with your own mind is not unlike trying to get urine samples from geese as they fly.

 

 


One man labeled that time segment of the day
subsequent to him arising as,
"The Intense Comedy Hour."

 

 


Just so you won't inappropriately feel as though the end may be near--or has even begun--let me note that even after there's "Nothing to prove" there's always something left to prove.

 

 


As the evening grew warmer they opened up the french doors, and the ten o'clock speaker had the following to say, "Governments are like the brain of man's body-politic."
And an ole sorehead attending the meeting unilaterally arose and responded, "Point of order: I say more like a tumor on such a brain."

A reader sends along this message:
"Speaking as one-who-should-know, let me say in the matter regarding 'tumors' that there can be worse things than a mere growth on the brain. Sincerely," and so on.

 

 


There was this one man who in private referred to his own brain as, "Gumdrop":
he says he does so only because it makes him so mad.

 

 


In finite universes everything lives side-by-side,
except for those things on parallel tracks
and those so far apart as to stand back-to-back.

 

 


Near the large tire factory a certain city observer tells us that now, since he has begun to get a "real handle on what life is up to," he's sure that "when the time comes," pawn shops and recycling centers will "be the last to go."
(And in response, some members of a recently disbarred Greek chorus, standing in a dumpster, said in unison, "Well we feel much better now!")

 

 

When the pronouncement was made that,
"A man with a house full of relatives is never alone,"
there were two responses:
"What's so bad about that?"
"What's so great about that?"

 

 


In the city was a man who would shout,
"Bring on the horses! Bring on the horses!"
Then follow it by crying out,
"Who brought on all these horses?!!"
(Is that the way of all intellectual-flesh or what!!)


J
 
 
 
 
 
  

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