Being in a Marching Band

Everything eventually passes into something somewhat unlike itself, or alternately, into something quite near itself.  (This helps keep life interesting for the easily confused.)



Being in a marching band
is no assurance you know
your right foot
from your spit valve.



One man sez, “I’m just a shadow of my former self,” and his partner sez, “What an improvement.”



A man told his son, “Look, if you’re gonna be a pink flamingo, don’t be so on your OWN front lawn.”



Another Unanswered City Question:
Is there a lock on the king’s door?