“Hooray, and congratulations, you’ve passed the test.”
“Hey, don’t bull-shove me, I know they change the test every day.”
“Hip, hip, hooray again, you’ve just passed the test.”
There was this one guy, (okay, there wasn’t really, but without this façade the first part of the sentence is missing, so, okay), there was this guy who was always bad-mouthing intellectual and scientific activities, and particularly, mathematics, until one day he ran up against the Large Super Prime Number who told him, “You better watch, little half-squirt, ‘cause I can prove statistically that you don’t even exist.” And, for gosh sakes, the feller was so shocked by this perturbing possibility that he hence forth kept his numerical opinions to his little self.
This one god told his main franchisee, “Hey, ease up, it’s just a job.”
One observer said, “This kinda stuff is like shorthand for long handed stuff that didn’t make sense to start with.”
Every day, at high noon, whenever he and his henchmen were in a typical western town, this one guy would “call himself out” for a showdown.