Five Minutes After

Saying that he’d had a “belly full” of the arguments over certain city problems, this one mayor declared, “Let those who make the garbage eat the garbage.”  (Several of his advisors felt they would all live to regret this decision.)



One aging ole sorehead whined, (over at last Saturday’s Whine Fest), “When diverse data begins to agree, what chance has a poor mortal?”  (Calendar note:  At next week’s get-together they’re going to hold the three-legged race using only two of whatever they’ve got.)



Well, a viewer finally did write in, and what he had to say was in reference to an earlier news item which noted that, “After five minutes, a lot of history gets boring.”  He wants to know – “Five minutes after what?”  (You know, I was afraid some smart-ass wiff a pencil’d ask that.)



Yet another way to tell that a civilization is poorly active and expanding is that even those involved in totally irrelevant affairs have to hustle for business.



Since it was almost eleven-thirty, the ole man decided it was last chance time for some advice for the day.  So he told the kid, “Son, whenever you’re inclined to be annoyed by someone else’s ideas, just remember that their hobby could’ve been to rob and pistol-whip you.”



In every city, there is a foreman in charge of the people’s intellectual development, but, as is so often the case with union employees, they don’t know what they’re doing.