Everyone’s fantasy has a phone number,
trouble is, it’s a local call.
One little guy, to be cute, and then some cute-on-cute,
oftimes when printing would make his capital T’s backwards.
(A certain penmanship coach in St. Paul has a new,
neo-deconstructionist theory that says, “If cute could kill.”)
“Son,” said the ole man, bathed in the glow of at least ersatz
metaphorical light, “Try and remember, when someone tells you
that you ‘can’t compare apples and oranges,’ they usually have
one or the other to sell.” This advice served the kid well for some
number of years until he ran upon a slickster pushing camouflaged kumquats.
The greatest thinker who ever lived, never lived.
If you depend on only that which is reliable,
your conception of time may be only a fad.