For uncounted days he trod across the gaseous desert, ‘til up ahead he saw a new sight; he thought it could be a mirage, but that didn’t matter, because it would be his mirage.
Over in the city, a guy
not standing near anything
said, “Anybody that’d
read fiction’d live it.”
In another reality (truth be known – if a crow could fly straight across dimensional boundaries – not that far from here), there’s a new religious cult which says that if you can be sarcastic enough, you’ll never die.
At a quite early age, this one kid had already begun a chase of matters philosophical and within a few years was experiencing a certain mental discomfort which he expressed to his ole man by the phrase-cum-question, “Say, Pop, the truth hurts,” to which his father replied, “Then don’t eat it.” But several months later the lad returned with the same comment, “The truth hurts,” and this time his elder told him, “Well, don’t eat it.” But in less than a year, the kid returned to say again, “The truth still hurts,” and the ole man pulled him close and said, “Look, why don’t you take the efficient way out, and just change your definition of ‘the truth’?”
There was recently a man who spent a considerable amount of time and energy compiling a list of the “Greatest Men Who Ever Lived,” and upon a close scrutiny of his completed masterwork, he discovered that his name was not included. (A memorial service will not be held this Thursday.)