Warts and All

Over in one of the city’s beer joints, I met a musician who said he was old enough, and had been around enough to put his finger on the basis of that blues feeling that so often stalks his art.  He says it’s reflected in the title of his latest song, “If It Wasn’t For Bad Luck, I Wouldn’t Have No Bad Luck At All.”



Amongst all of their other curious and challenging habits, one man says what currently intrigues him the most regarding his squirrels’ behavior, is the fact that they never ask questions.



In one life, in one reality, one man had certain opinions that he thought would be best left unsaid, and one day his brain partner asked him why he said “certain”?



The “D.W.” (Dire Warning),
from one universe was,
“Hey! Don’t mock civilization!”



After saving up for several years, one man paid to have the warts on his thigh moved up to his neck.



Over in another different reality, they have a different fairy tale that tells of a kid who,, one fine and different day, suddenly realizes that his ole man’s advice wasn’t really meant to be followed.  (It concluded with a moral, but it’s too different to mention.)