“Remember on this kid,” said the obviously reconditioned ole man, “If the manufacturers actually knew what they were doing, they wouldn’t have to enclose a set of instructions.” (The lad TRIED to remember, but ordinary reason ultimately prevailed.)
As he arose each morning to face another day in the chancy game-of-life, this one fellow, with the sweet hope of children and born gamblers, would fall to one knee, glance up and pray, “Dear God, I’m a big roller and new in town – ‘comp me’ Lord, come on ‘comp, comp, comp me.’”
Taking a favorable position near the fountain in the Park’s west sector, a man with a dainty manuscript stood and began to read aloud, “Just as the moron derives his light from the sun – no, I’m sorry, that should say just as the ‘moon’…hmmm…well, now it doesn’t make ANY sense at all – forget it.”
There is a whole other kind
of extremely pleasing “seriousness”
available only to those who are
dis-connected to the ordinary version.
At the end of yet another long and barbarous campaign, the savage legion set up a large celebration tent wherein later into the festivities, their dreaded leader stood at the head table, raised a bloody cup, and pronounced a toast, “To all the cities great and small which we plundered and destroyed; to all of the people we raped, maimed and butchered; to all these I would say – ‘Thank you for inviting me into your homes.’”