Every time this one reality could get their god to agree to an interview, he’d irk ‘em off by waving at the camera and holding up a “we’re number one” finger.
A fellow writes as foolows (I guess this is supposed to be “follows”):
“Dear Sir: I have been reading your so-called ‘news’ now for some time and find myself less and less disposed to miss one. My wife has joined in the reading on several occasions and says she finds my growing habitual attraction to them either a sign of strength or a display of weakness; she says she doesn’t know which and she’s sure I don’t, and she further doubts that you do. What do you have to say? Yours Truly,” and so on." Dear Yours Truly: What is your wife’s name?
Okay, there was another once upon a time when there was this god – no, this thought – no, wait, maybe it was just this king, yeah, that’ll do. Once upon a time there was this king, who was not an absolute, irredeemable, blind-to-everything-else, totally-domineering egomaniac. (After telling you this, there’s not much else to tell.)
The prize in his box of Rebel Jacks was a little rubber possibility warped – I guess that should say “wrapped” – in a note that said: “If you want to think of time as being a fourth dimension to life, then think of its job as being to unendingly uncover more and more facts regarding the other three.”
A visitor to this dimensioned reality asked me just as he departed, “Why do the short believe the tall to all be idiots?” (“Tis tricky indeed to explain the star-crossed nature of Longitude and Latitude, of Romeo and Juliet, of Income and Taxes, to an out-of-towner.)
Earlier this morning, one of the park philosophers (speaking to the breakfast-brunch-crowd) declared, “Our thinking must follow our discovery of the truth – not the other way around!” And a man with a sport coat and a biscuit called out, “Why not?”