You should realize by now
that what might be operationally correct on an obscure hillside site
may be irrational and fallacious down in the City;
for instance, up in the Revolutionist Camp the following is said,
“The greatest book ever written doesn’t make any difference.”

“Hooray and congratulations, you’ve passed the test.”
“Hey, don’t bull-shove me, I know they change the test everyday.”
“Hip hip hooray, you’ve passed another one.”

Thee was this one guy, (okay, there wasn’t really,
but without this facade the first part of the sentence is missing, so),
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 longhanded stuff that didn’t make sense to start with.”


Everyday, at high noon,
whenever he and his henchmen were in a typical Western town,
this one guy would “call himself out” for a showdown.



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